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AN 


ADDRESS 


TO 


THE   PHILERMENIAN    SOCIETY 


OF    BROWN   UNIVERSITY, 


THE  MORAL  CHARACTER  OF  THE  LITERATURE  OF 


THE  LAST  AND  PRESENT  CENTURY. 


DELIVERED  AT  PROVIDENCE,  R.  I.,  SEPT.  4,  1837. 


BY  ALEXANDER  H.  EVERETT. 


PUBLISHED      BY     REQUEST. 


PROVIDENCE: 

PRINTED  BY  KNOWLES,  VOSE&CO. 
1837. 


ADDRESS. 


GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  SOCIETY — 

Though  personally  a  stranger  to  most  of  you,  it 
is  with  much  satisfaction  that  I  meet  you  upon  an  occasion 
so  agreeable  as  that  which  has  now  called  us  together. 
On  the  Anniversary  of  the  venerable  Institution,  where 
you  received  your  first  initiation  into  the  mysteries  of 
science,  you  return  from  your  various  occupations  in  the 
walks  of  active  life,  to  renew  your  old  associations  with 
each  other,  and  to  revive  your  interest  in  the  pursuits  which 
constituted  at  once  your  duties  and  delights  during  your 
abode  in  this  University.  You  withdraw  for  a  time  from 
the  employments  and  professions — the  religious  and  polit- 
ical connexions  in  which  you  may  have  become  engaged, 
— from  the  different  social  circles  to  which  you  respect- 
ively belong, — and  meet  upon  the  common  ground  of  early 
friendship  and  a  mutual  attachment  to  the  cause  of 
education  and  letters. 

Such  a  purpose,  gentlemen,  carries  with  it  its  own 
justification  and  even  eulogy.  It  is  good  for  us  to  be 
here.  It  is  good  for  us  to  quit  for  a  time  the  absorbing 
cares,  the  bitter  controversies,  the  alternate  triumphs 
and  defeats,  that  attend  our  progress  through  the  world, 
and  dwell  together,  for  a  day  or  two  at  least,  on  the  holy 
and  beautiful  heights  of  Learning,  in  an  atmosphere  of 
harmony  and  love.  The  intellectual  powers  are  invigo- 
rated by  a  temporary  relaxation  from  habitual  labor ; — 


the  heart  is  made  better  by  indulgence  in  the  kind  senti- 
ments, which  are  awakened  by  the  occasion ; — the  very 
physical  senses  are  refreshed,  by  breathing  again  the  gales 
that  soothed  our  careless  infancy,  and  feasting  our  eyes 
upon  the  well  rembered  woods,  and  hills,  and  waters  over 
which  they  blew.  Who  has  not  experienced  in  his  own 
person  the  deep  truth,  as  well  as  the  exquisite  poetical 
charm  of  the  well  known  words,  in  which  the  Poet  of 
Eton  College  expressed  his  feelings  on  a  distant  prospect 
of  that  Institution  ? 

Ah  happy  hills  !  Ah  pleasing  shade  ! 

Ah  fields,  beloved  in  vain, 
Where  once  my  careless  childhood  strayed, 

A  stranger  yet  to  pain  ! 
I  feel  the  gales  that  from  you  blow 
A  momentary  bliss  bestow, 

As,  waving  fresh  their  gladsome  wing, 
My  weary  soul  they  seem  to  soothe,  • 
And  redolent  of  joy  and  youth, 

To  breathe  a  second  spring. 

I  should  consider  myself,  gentlemen,  as  doing  injustice 
to  such  an  occasion,  if  I  were  to  select  a  topic  for  the  pres- 
ent address,  which  should  tend,  in  the  least  degree,  to 
awaken  differences  of  sentiment,  inconsistent  with  the 
object  for  which  we  are  assembled.  Avoiding  every 
theme,  which  offers  any  danger  of  this  description,  I 
venture  to  solicit  your  indulgence  fora  few  remarks  upon 
the  Moral  Characteristics  and  Tendencies  of  the  Litera- 
ture of  the  present,  as  compared  loith  that  of  the  last 
century.  The  aspect  of  learning  at  these  two  periods, 
considered  under  a  moral  point  of  view,  presents  some 
differences,  resulting  from  corresponding  differences  in  the 
state  of  society,  which  are  curious  in  themselves,  and 
pregnant  with  lessons  of  high  practical  importance.  In 
treating  this  subject,  I  shall  first  sketch  very  rapidly  the 
nature  of  the  differences  to  which  I  allude,  and  shall 
afterwards  attempt  to  illustrate  them  by  remarks  on  such 
of  the  principal  writers  of  the  two  periods,  as  indicate  most 


distinctly  their  respective  moral  aspects.  The  nature  of 
the  subject  will  lead  me  to  dwell  more  particularly  upon 
the  literature  of  the  Continent,  and  especially  of  France  ; 
which,  during  a  considerable  portion  of  the  time  in  ques- 
tion, gave  its  moral  tone  to  that  of  all  the  rest  of  Europe. 
The  outline  of  the  difference  in  the  moral  characteristics 
of  the  literature  of  the  last  and  present  century,  is  doubtless 
familiar  to  you,  and  may  be  stated  in  a  few  words.  It 
corresponds  with  the  remarkable  change  in  public  opinion 
and  in  the  state  of  society  throughout  Christendom,  which 
occurred  during  this  period,  and  of  which  the  French 
Revolution  formed  the  turning  point.  The  effort  of  the 
public  mind  throughout  Europe,  before  the  Revolution, 
as  exhibited  in  literature,  not  less  than  its  other  more 
active  demonstrations,  was  directed  to  the  reform  of  exist- 
ing institutions,  political  and  religious.  The  spirit  of 
learning  at  this  period  was  bold,  critical,  inquisitive. 
In  its  excesses  it  degenerated  into  skepticism  upon  the 
clearest  and  most  important  truths,  and  mockery  of  all 
that  is  justly  held  most  dear  and  venerable  by  the  wise 
and  good.  The  opinion  of  which  this  form  of  learning 
was  the  expression,  wrought  out  its  practical  result  in 
the  French  Revolution.  That  memorable  political  torna- 
do, which  in  most  parts  of  Europe,  swept  away  with  the 
abuses  to  be  remedied  the  institutions  themselves  in  which 
they  were  found,  left  society  a  vast,  unoccupied  field, 
overspread  with  ruins  and  reeking  with  the  blood,  which 
had  been  poured  out,  like  water,  in  the  course  of  these 
convulsions.  A  change  now  came  over  the  spirit  of  the 
age  and  of  literature.  Reform,  whether  for  evil  or  for 
good,  had  done  its  work,  and  done  it  thoroughly.  The 
object  was  now  to  re-construct,  if  possible,  from  the  frag- 
ments of  the  fallen  edifices,  or  to  create  from  new  materials 
furnished  by  the  plastic  energies  of  the  great  minds  which 
guide  the  movements  of  the  rest,  new  systems  of  doctrine 
and  new  forms  of  religion  and  government.  This  change 


iii  the  direction  of  public  opinion,  and  in  the  nature  of 
the  objects  which  it  principally  aimed  to  bring  about,  was 
soon  reflected  in  the  aspect  of  learning.  In  the  more  sub- 
stantial departments  of  theoretical  and  practical  Philoso- 
phy, profound  thought  and  original  creative  energy  took 
the  place  of  criticism.  In  the  lighter  forms  of  Poetry  and 
Romance,  seriousness  and  tenderness  predominated  over 
sarcasm.  The  prevailing  errors  were  now  those  of  extra- 
vagance and  superstition,  rather  than  of  skepticism.  In 
short,  gentlemen,  the  characteristics  of  learning  during 
these  two  periods,  as  seen  alike,  in  its  power  and  its  weak- 
ness, its  truth  and  its  errors,  its  beauty  and  its  deformity, 
corresponded  exactly  with  the  nature  of  the  spirit,  which 
prevailed  in  each,  and  with  the  direction  of  public  opinion, 
which  tended  during  the  former  to  the  Reformation,  and 
during  the  latter  to  the  Reconstruction,  or  as  it  has  some- 
times been  called,  the  Regeneration  of  society. 

Such,  gentlemen,  is,  in  general,  the  outline  of  the  dif- 
ference in  the  state  of  public  opinion  and  of  learning,  at 
the  two  periods  in  question,  to  which  I  have  alluded. 
You  will  not,  of  course,  understand  me  to  intimate  that 
the  spirit  which  prevailed  in  either,  was  universal  and 
without  exception.  While  the  great  majority  of  minds 
follow,  through  all  its  changes,  the  current  of  the  age  in 
which  they  live,  a  few  eccentric  spirits  strike  out  an 
independent  path  for  themselves,  sometimes  directly  op- 
posite to  that  of  their  contemporaries.  Thus  we  find,  in 
the  midst  of  the  wild  licentiousness  of  the  literary  carni- 
val of  the  last  century,  a  strain  of  the  deepest  melancholy 
issuing  from  the  lyre  of  YOUNG,  and  answered  from  the 
Continent  in  corresponding  tones,  in  the  high  religious 
enthusiasm  of  the  Messiah.  Nor  was  the  practical  direc- 
tion of  public  opinion  at  either  of  these  periods  entirely 
uniform  throughout  Christendom.  While  the  rest  of 
Europe  was  struggling  with  frenzied  energy  for  improve- 
ment, Italy  and  Spain  slept  almost  as  profoundly  as  Egypt, 


Palestine  and  Greece.  England,  from  causes  peculiar  to 
herself,  though  the  freest  and  best  informed  nation  in 
Europe,  resisted,  rather  than  shared  the  all-pervading 
impulse,  especially  when  it  took  the  shape  of  open  Revo- 
lution. Now,  on  the  contrary,  when  the  storm  has  spent 
its  fury  on  the  Continent,  and  public  opinion  has  taken 
the  opposite  direction,  the  spirit  of  Reform  has  broken  out 
with  fresh  vigor  in  England.  Hence  the  different  aspects 
of  the  literature  of  the  last  and  present  century,  to  which 
I  have  alluded,  are  less  observable  in  England  than  they 
are  upon  the  Continent ;  as  I  have  already  intimated, 
and  shall  have  occasion  to  shew,  more  fully  in  the  sequel. 

It  is  curious,  however, — after  making  all  proper  allow- 
ance for  individual  exceptions, — to  see  how  completely 
the  spirit  of  Reform  had  obtained  possession  of  the  whole 
mind  of  Europe,  at  the  period  preceeding  the  French 
Revolution,  even  in  quarters  where  it  was  likely  to  exer- 
cise the  most  injurious  influence.  Let  us  glance  for  a 
moment  at  the  political  and  literary  aspect  of  the  age  of 
Louis  XV.  It  offers  one  of  the  most  brilliant  pictures 
that  has  ever  been  exhibited  in  the  history  of  civilization. 

Politically  viewed,  the  strength  is  in  the  East.  Eng- 
land, distracted  by  the  struggles  of  the  STUART  and 
BRUNSWICK  families  for  the  succession  to  the  throne,  is 
hardly  a  first-rate  power.  France  has  sunk  already  from 
the  height  of  influence,  which  she  had  reached  under 
•Louis  XIV.  into  a  state  of  comparative  inferiority.  Spain 
and  Italy  languish  in  torpid  inactivity  under  the  same 
leaden  BOURBON  sceptre.  In  the  mean  time  Prussia,  in- 
spired by  the  commanding  genius  of  FREDERIC  the  Great, 
starts  at  once  from  the  condition  of  a  third  or  fourth  rate 
power,  to  be  the  temporary  arbiter  of  Europe.  Russia,  cre- 
ated by  the  energy  of  PETER,  is  nobly  sustained  and  even 
strengthened  by  that  of  CATHERINE  ;  while  in  Austria, 
MARIA  THERESA,  less  dististinguished  by  talent,  adorns 
with  tranquil  dignity  and  the  amiable  virtues  of  private 
life,  the  purple  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire. 


8 

Such  are  the  political  relations.  But  France,  though 
politically  fallen,  reigns  without  a  rival  in  the  world  of 
civilization  and  letters.  The  sun  of  learning  has  set  in 
Italy  and  Spain,  and  has  not  yet  risen  in  Germany. 
England,  at  the  return  of  CHARLES  II.,  had  sacrificed  her 
own  vigorous  and  manly  school  in  a  vain  imitation  of  that 
of  France.  "  Glorious  JOHN," — glorious  chiefly  for  what 
he  might  have  done,  and  POPE,  unequal  successors  to  the 
literary  sceptre  of  SHAKSPEARE  and  MILTON,  have  found 
themselves  no  successors  at  all.  France,  meanwhile,  has 
diffused  the  taste  for  her  literature  from  Cadiz  to  Archangel. 
Her  language  is  spoken  at  all  the  Courts,  and  forms  the 
common  medium  of  intercourse  among  the  cultivated 
classes  of  all  the  different  nations.  Her  writers,  though 
greatly  fallen,  at  least  as  we  now  consider  them,  from  the 
standard  of  the  age  of  Louis  XIV.,  are  regarded  as  the 
models  of  taste,  and  the  only  ones  entitled  to  attention. 
The  appearance  of  their  works  is  watched  as  a  matter  of 
public  concern  throughout  Europe.  Some  of  the  German 
princes  maintain  ambassadors  at  Paris,  expressly  for  the 
purpose  of  receiving  a  regular  account  of  the  new  publi- 
cations. Such  was  the  mission  of  the  Baron  de  GRIMM, 
whose  despatches,  which  have  since  been  published,  form 
perhaps  the  most  amusing  literary  memoirs  in  existence. 
At  no  time,  before  or  since,  with  the  exception  of  a  bril- 
liant period  in  the  history  of  ancient  Greece,  was  learning 
so  highly  honored  in  the  persons  of  its  professors.  PLATO 
had  been  invited  to  reside  at  the  Court  of  DIONYSIUS,  King 
of  Sicily.  In  the  same  way,  the  mighty  minds  that 
swayed  the  destinies  of  Europe,  from  the  thrones  of  Russia 
and  Prussia,  courted  the  society  of  the  literary  men  of 
France.  FREDERIC  the  Great,  invited  VOLTARE  to  Berlin, 
and  corresponded  with  him  for  many  years.  CATHERINE 
sought  unsuccessfully  the  honor  of  his  company,  but  en- 
joyed that  of  his  correspondence,  and,  after  his  death, 
purchased  his  library,  which  is  still  preserved  in  the  Pal- 


ace  of  the  Hermitage  at  St.  Petersburgh.  D'ALEMBERT 
declined  a  similar  invitation  from  the  Northern  Seminaries, 
which,  however,  was  accepted  by  MARMONTEL,  DIDEROT, 
and  others,  who,  with  the  Ambassador  SEGUR,  himself  a 
distinguished  man  of  letters,  constituted  St.  Petersburg 
almost  a  French  Court.  So  completely  had  the  Great 
FREDERIC  given  up  his  mind  to  the  witchery  of  French 
literature,  that,  although  the  noble  German  language  was 
native  to  his  tongue,  he  would  not  condescend  to  use  it, 
but  habitually  conversed  with  his  friends  and  wrote  his 
own  books  in  French  ;  and  this,  too,  at  a  time  when 
KLOPSTOCK  was  in  all  his  glory,  and  when  the  brilliant 
constellation  of  Weimar  had  already  shown  itself  above 
the  horizon- 
Such,  gentlemen,  was  the  influence,  which  was  exer- 
cised throughout  Europe,  at  the  period  alluded  to,  by  the 
literature  of  France.  It  realised,  in  the  world  of  letters, 
the  universal  empire  which  the  Sovereigns  of  France 
have,  at  various  times,  attempted  in  vain  to  acquire  by 
arms.  The  sceptre  of  this  universal  empire,  appertained 
by  general  consent  to  the  celebrated  VOLTAIRE.  There 
may  have  been  among  the  French  writers  of  that  day, 
individuals  who  may  justly  be  considered  as  superior  to 
VOLTAIRE  in  some  of  the  requisites  for  literary  excellence. 
MONTESQUIEU,  for  example,  is  decidedly  above  him  in 
originality,  depth  and  precision  of  thought,  while  in  ele- 
gance of  style  and  vigor  of  imagination,  he  is  at  least  his 
equal.  But  neither  the  author  of  the  Spirit  of  Laws  and 
the  Persian  Letters,  nor  any  other  writer  of  the  period, 
could  dispute  with  the  Patriarch  of  Ferney,  the  palm  of 
authority  in  the  world  of  letters.  He  owed  this  to  a 
union  of  various  qualities  and  talents,  extraordinary  in 
themselves  and  still  more  extraordinary  in  their  combina- 
tion. As  a  wit  and  poet,  "  if  not  first,  in  the  very  first 
line ;"— - a  clear  and  powerful  thinker,  though  not  attaining 
the  highest  point  either  of  originality  or  correctness,  per- 

2, 


10 

haps  because  in  all  his  speculations,  he  seems  to  have 
aimed  at  effect  rather  than  truth  ; — he  combined  with 
these  substantial  endowments,  an  almost  miraculous 
facility  of  pouring  out  his  thoughts  alike  in  prose  and 
verse, — an  indefatigable  and  restless  activity,  not  always 
companion  of  high  literary  powers  ; — and  a  dauntless 
courage  that  spurned  control  and  rose  convulsively  against 
all  sorts  of  oppression.  These  qualities,  exercised  through 
a  long  career  of  more  than  half  a  century, — seconded  too 
in  their  operation  by  the  general  tendency  of  public  opin- 
ion, may  well  account  for  his  colossal  reputation,  and  the 
immense  influence,  literary  and  political,  which  he  possess- 
ed over  his  contemporaries. 

Connected  by  birth  with  the  middling  class  of  society, 
— at  that  time  separated  from  the  highest,  especially  in 
France,  by  a  broad  and  almost  impassable  line  of  distinc- 
tion,— VOLTAIRE  raised  himself  at  once,  by  a  precocious 
display  of  talent,  to  an  association  on  equal  terms  with 
nobles  and  princes  ;  and  so  little  were  his  powers  ham- 
pered by  any  supposed  inferiority  to  his  new  companions, 
that  one  of  his  earliest  adventures  was  a  personal  affair, 
in  which  he  undertook  to  secure  his  honor  against  the 
effect  of  an  insult  from  a  Prince  of  the  blood  Royal.  The 
result  was  an  imprisonment  of  several  months  in  the 
Bastile ;  but  so  far  was  VOLTAIRE  from  being  intimidated 
or  depressed  by  this  punishment,  that  he  employed  the 
period  of  his  confinement  in  writing  the  Hcnriade;  a 
work  which  sustains,  of  course,  no  comparison  with  the 
Iliad,  but  holds  a  high  rank  among  the  so-called  epic 
poems  of  modern  times.  Soon  after  his  liberation,  he 
travelled  in  England,  and  he  seems  to  have  imbibed  or 
fostered  in  that  country  the  bold,  free  thinking  spirit,  that 
afterwards  predominated  so  strongly  in  his  writings.  His 
Letters  on  England,  written  at  this  period,  exhibit  one 
of  the  first  examples  of  that  fearless  discussion  of  moral 
and  political  questions,  which,  however  at  times  abused 


11 

and  carried  to  excess, — constitutes,  undoubtedly,  one  of 
the  most  honorable  distinctions  of  modern  civilization. 
On  his  return  from  England,  he  essayed  his  power  in 
dramatic  poetry,  where  he  at  once  took  the  lead  of  all 
his  competitors.  His  Orestes,  Merope,  Alzireand  Zaire, 
— if  they  do  not  fully  equal  the  master-pieces  of  Corneille 
and  Racine, — stand  upon  the  same  line,  and  command  at 
this  day,  the  unqualified  admiration  of  the  lovers  of  French 
tragedy.  The  poet  infused  into  some  of  these  plays,  what 
perhaps  was  no  improvement  of  them,  poetically  viewed, 
the  new  element  of  philosophical  thought,  and  endeavored 
to  render  them  auxiliary  to  his  great  purpose  of  Reform. 
His  next  efforts,  though  he  continued  through  life  to  ex- 
ercise himself  in  tragedy,  were  in  History.  Here  he 
struck  out  a  new  path  ;  and  abandoning  the  grave,  didac- 
tic character  of  the  ancient  historians,  and  of  the  great 
writers  of  modern  Italy,  he  made  his  work  a  keen,  sarcas- 
tic commentary  on  the  political  and  religious  abuses  of  the 
times  which  he  describes.  In  none  of  his  productions  are 
his  powers  displayed  in  a  more  truly  characteristic  shape, 
and  in  none,  perhaps,  does  he  appear  to  greater  advantage, 
than  in  the  best  of  these  histories,  which  are  the  Age  of 
Louis  XIV.  and  the  Universal  History  of  Modern 
Europe.  In  these  he  exhibits  something  like  the  fresh- 
ness and  power  of  an  original  inventor,  and,  if  less  pro- 
found and  instructive  than  some  other  historians,  is, 
perhaps,  the  most  entertaining  of  them  all.  In  connexion 
with  these  great  works,  he  poured  forth  a  flood  of  minor 
productions  in  prose  and  verse,  sufficient  of  themselves,  to 
have  given  the  highest  reputation  to  any  writer ;  although 
many  of  them,  as  well  as  some  of  his  histories,  are 
objectionable  on  the  score  of  their  moral  tendency, — some 
of  them  to  such  a  degree  as  to  be  wholly  unfit  for  general 
perusal. 

For  a  long  time  after  his  return  to  England,  VOLTAIRE 
was  a  favorite  at  the  French  Court,  where  he  held  for 


12 

twenty  years  the  honorary  title  of  Chamberlain,  which 
gave  him  a  free  admission  to  the  personal  society  of  the 
Royal  Family.  But  the  freedom  of  his  strictures  on 
political  and  religious  abuses,  finally  alienated  from  him 
the  favor  of  the  government,  and  occasioned  his  exile  from 
Prance.  This,  however,  was  to  him,  with  his  European 
reputation,  a  very  small  matter.  Proscribed  in  France,  he 
was  invited  to  Prussia  by  the  Great  FREDERIC,  who  gave 
him  the  title  of  Chamberlain,  and  an  apartment  in  the 
Palace.  The  atmosphere  of  Courts  has  been  sometimes 
found  dangerous  to  the  personal  independence  of  men  of 
genius ;  but  VOLTAIRE  was  not  likely  to  suffer  in  this  way 
from  its  influence.  The  monarch  of  Letters  sustained 
himself  on  a  footing  of  perfect  equality  with  the  monarch 
of  Prussia,  and  finally  retired  in  disgust  from  his  domin- 
ions, rather  than  submit  to  some  real  or  supposed  affront. 
He  now  established  the  head  quarters  of  his  universal  lite- 
rary sovereignty  at  Ferney,  in  the  little  republic  of  Geneva, 
where  he  held  his  court,  for  the  greater  part  of  his  remain- 
ing life,  receiving  the  homage  of  admiring  crowds  of  vis- 
itors from  all  parts  of  Europe.  His  fortune  was  ample, 
the  fruit,  as  it  seems,  of  his  own  economy,  talent  and  in- 
dustry ;  his  enjoyment  of  life,  though  somewhat  impaired 
by  perpetual  attacks  from  rivals  and  adversaries,  was  prob- 
ably on  the  whole  very  great ; — his  conversation  with  his 
numerous  visitors,  brilliant,  various  and  captivating  almost 
beyond  example.  At  the  close  of  his  long  career,  when 
he  was  fast  approaching  the  verge  of  fourscore, — after  the 
accession  of  Louis  XVI.,  the  hostility  of  the  French 
Court  relented,  and  he  was  permitted  to  return  to  Paris. 
His  reception  there  was  a  splendid  popular  triumph.  The 
worlds  of  fashion  and  letters, — which  were  identical,  for 
letters  were  then  all  the  fashion  at  Paris, — crowded  round 
him  as  an  oracle.  Finally,  he  attended  the  theatre, — 
through  life  the  scene  of  his  most  brilliant  successes, — at 
the  representation  of  one  of  his  own  tragedies,  and  after 


13 

it  was  over,  saw  his  bust  crowned  with  laurels  amid  the 
acclamations  of  the  audience.  The  excitement  of  this 
scene  seems  to  have  been  too  great  for  his  now  feeble 
frame,  and  to  have  overpowered  the  principle  of  life.  He 
was  taken  ill  the  next  day,  and  after  a  confinement  of  two 
or  three  weeks,  expired  on  the  field  of  his  early  glory, — 
surrounded  by  friends,  crowned  with  wealth  and  honor, 
and,  as  it  were,  in  the  arms  of  victory. 

Such,  gentlemen,  were  the  character  and  literary  career 
of  this  celebrated  person,  who  embodied  in  his  own  works 
so  much  of  the  literature  of  the  earlier  part  of  the  last 
century,  and  so  completely  personified  the  spirit  of  the 
whole  in  its  brilliant  qualities,  and  to  a  certain  extent,  in 
its  errors  and  excesses.  He  was,  as  was  well  said  of  him 
during  his  life  time,  the  spoiled  child  of  an  age  which  he 
did  more  than  any  other  person  to  spoil : — V enfant  gate 
du  siecle  qu'il  gata.  The  reckless,  innovating  spirit  of 
the  period,  formed  and  developed  his  character,  while  the 
incredible  fertility  of  resources,  which  he  exhibited  through 
his  long  career,  did  much  to  strengthen  the  already  over- 
whelming opinion.  His  object  and  desire  through  life 
were  the  reform  of  abuses  in  religion  and  government. 
For  this  there  was  ample  room  :  and  had  his  efforts  been 
kept  within  the  line  of  good  taste,  good  morals  and  sound 
discretion,  their  result  might  have  been  wholly  beneficial. 
Unfortunately,  he  too  often  overlooked  all  these  considera- 
tions, and  others  of  a  still  more  solemn  and  imperious 
character,  in  his  zeal  for  effect ;  and  has  left  behind  him 
a  mass  of  writings,  of  which  a  very  large  portion  can 
hardly  be  perused  with  profit  or  even  safety. 

But  the  errors  and  excesses  of  VOLTAIRE,  reprehensible  as 
they  certainly  are,  are  in  some  degree  moral,  compared 
with  those  of  his  contemporaries,  and  immediate  success- 
ors, composing  what  has  sometimes  been  called  the  Phi- 
losophical, but  more  properly  the  Materialist  or  Atheisti- 
cal school.  The  professors  of  this  doctrine  were  not 


14 

unwilling  to  sustain  that  system  by  the  authority  of  the 
high  reputation  of  VOLTAIRE,  and  sometimes  claimed  him 
as  the  Patriarch  of  the  Philosophical  church.  In  reality, 
however,  they  had  entirely  abandoned  his  opinions  on  the 
most  important  questions  of  philosophy,  and  substituted 
for  them  others  of  a  directly  opposite  character.  VOLTAIRE, 
though  he  often  sneered  and  scoffed  at  what  he  considered 
as  religious  errors  and  abuses,  never  lost  sight  of  the  great 
truths  of  Religion  itself,  but  continued  to  support  and 
defend  them  against  all  opposition,  up  to  the  close  of  his 
life.  The  philosophers,  on  the  other  hand,  laughed  at 
the  idea  of  an  intelligent  Supreme  Being,  denied  the  real- 
ity of  moral  distinctions,  and  a  future  existence,  and 
considered  man  as  a  variety  of  the  animal  creation,  some- 
what superior  in  intellectual  power,  but  essentially  simi- 
lar in  all  respects  to  the  brutes  that  surround  him,  and 
destined,  like  them,  after  the  close  of  his  brief  existence 
in  this  world,  to  complete  annihilation.  The  difference 
between  their  opinions  and  those  of  VOLTAIRE,  upon  these 
great  questions,  is  illustrated  by  an  anecdote,  recorded  in 
the  memoirs  of  GRIMM,  whom,  as  I  just  now  remarked, 
was,  at  this  period,  the  literary  ambassador  of  the  Duke 
of  SAXE  GOTHA,  at  Paris. 

"The  Patriach,"  says  GRIMM,  "was  sitting  one  fine 
summer  evening  in  his  garden,  at  Ferney,  conversing  with 
some  of  his  friends,  upon  the  brilliancy  and  beauty  of  the 
starry  firmament  above  their  heads,  when  he  extemporised 
the  following  verses  :" 

Tous  ces  vastes  pays  d'azur  et  de  lumiere, 
Tires  du  sein  du  vide,  et  formes  sans  matiere, 
Arrondis  sans  compas,  et  tournant  sans  pivot, 
Ont  a  peine  coute  la  depense  d'  un  mot. 

The  purport  of  these  lines,  gentlemen,  as  I  need  not 
inform  those  of  you,  who  are  acquainted  with  the  French 
language,  is  the  same,  in  a  more  concentrated  form,  with 
that  of  the  beautiful  hymn  of  Addison, — "  The  spacious 


15 

firmament  on  high," — which  is  too  familiar  to  you  all,  to 
require  to  be  repeated. 

"  The  Patriarch,"  says  GRIMM,  in  relating  this  anecdote, 
"  still  adheres  to  his  old  fancy  of  a  Supreme  Intelligence, 
and  a  future  state  of  rewards  and  punishments.  He 
reasons  upon  this  subject  like  a  school  boy,  a  bright  and 
lively  one,  to  be  sure,  as  he  is,  but  still  a  mere  school  boy. 
I  should  like  to  ask  him  whether  any  one  has  ever  seen 
this  supreme  intelligence, — how  tall  he  is,  and  what  is  the 
color  of  his  complexion.  The  Patriarch  pretends  that  we 
cannot  conceive  of  the  existence  of  a  Universe,  without  a 
supreme  creating  mind.  This  is  true  enough :  we  can- 
not conceive  of  such  a  thing,  but  we  know  the  fact  that 
it  exists,  and  that  is,  perhaps,  quite  as  good." 

Such,  gentlemen,  was  the  doctrine  of  the  philosophical 
school ;  such  the  argument,  if  argument  it  can  be  called, 
by  which  it  was  supported.  Although  the  head  quarters 
of  the  sect  were  established  at  Paris,  the  leader  resided  in 
a  different  part  of  Europe,  being  no  less  a  person  than  the 
celebrated  DAVID  HUME,  of  Edinburgh  ;  one  of  the  ablest 
and  at  the  same  time  most  dangerous  philosophical  writers 
of  modern  times.  The  correctness  and  simple  elegance 
of  his  style  of  writing,  which  make  it,  though  not  very 
nervous  or  brilliant,  one  of  the  best  in  the  language  ;  the 
clearness  of  his  reasoning  in  many  of  his  essays,  particu- 
larly on  subjects  in  political  economy,  and  his  success  as  a 
historian,  together  with  his  respectable  position  in  society, 
and  amiable  personal  character,  gave  him  great  authority 
in  the  world  of  letters.  This  he  unfortunately  employed 
in  lending  credit  and  reputation,  to  a  series  of  the  most 
revolting  paradoxes,  in  metaphysical  and  moral  philosophy, 
resulting  in  the  rejection  of  all  religion,  natural  and  re- 
vealed, the  denial  of  moral  distinctions,  and  a  doubt  as  to 
the  existence  of  any  thing  whatever,  mind  or  matter. — 
HUME  himself  candidly  confesses,  in  one  of  his  published 
works,  that  in  his  cooler  and  more  practical  moments,  he 


16 

had  no  real  faith  in  these  strange  heresies,  which  he  sup- 
ports in  his  writings,  with  so  much  gravity  and  apparent 
conviction.  "  When  I  sit  down,"  he  says,  "  of  an  evening 
to  play  a  game  of  back-gammon,  or  join  in  a  pleasant 
conversation  with  a  circle  of  intelligent  friends,  and  with- 
draw my  attention  in  this  way  for  a  few  hours,  from  my 
favorite  studies,  I  lose  the  conviction  that  I  ordinarily  feel 
in  the  truth  of  their  results,  and  begin  to  look  upon  them 
as  the  mere  vagaries  of  fancy.  This  candid  avowal  by 
HUME  of  his  own  feelings,  corresponds  with  that  of  the 
mad  astronomer,  in  JOHNSON'S  Rasselas,  who  believed  him- 
self to  possess  a  control  over  the  elements,  but  was  at  any 
time  restored  to  his  senses,  by  an  hour's  conversation  with 
the  beautiful  favorite  of  the  Princess.  HUME'S  faith  in 
his  own  paradoxes,  so  far  as  there  was  any  reality  in  it — 
was,  in  fact,  an  example  of  that  sort  of  monomania,  by 
which  a  person,  from  intently  meditating  for  a  long  time 
upon  a  train  of  ideas,  which  he  originally  knew  to  be 
false,  acquires  at  length  a  sort  of  persuasion  that  they  are 
true. 

The  doctrine  of  HUME  obtained  but  little  currency  in 
England,  where  life  is  too  intensely  practical  to  afford 
much  scope  for  the  success  of  theories,  which  are  refuted 
at  once  by  an  appeal  to  practical  experience.  In  France, 
on  the  contrary,  it  fell  in  with  the  current  of  public  opin- 
ion, and  formed,  in  connexion  with  other  speculations  of 
a  kindred  character,  the  basis  of  the  philosophy,  to  which 
I  just  now  alluded.  CONDILLAC  had  falsely  deduced  from 
the  writings  of  LOCKE,  the  conclusions,  never  drawn  by 
himself,  that  sensation  was  the  only  source  of  knowledge, 
and  that  there  was  no  reality  in  any  thing  not  immedi- 
ately palpable  to  the  senses.  HELVETIUS  denied  that  there 
was  any  essential  distinction  between  moral  good  and 
evil",  and  acknowledged  no  other  rational  motive  of  action 
but  sensual  pleasure.  DIDEROT  and  others,  attacked  re- 
ligion under  all  its  forms,  and  undertook  to  establish,  on 


17 

its  ruins,  a  system  of  naked,  unsophisticated  atheism.  It 
was  their  intention  to  embody  these  cheering  views  in  a 
large  work,  designed  for  a  sort  of  code  of  universal 
science,  to  be  called  the  Encyclopedia.  This  plan  was 
in  part  carried  into  effect,  and  in  part  disappointed.  The 
work  was  published,  and  forms  a  conspicuous  and  volumi- 
nous portion  of  most  large  libraries  ;  but  it  was  in  a  great 
measure  robbed  of  its  sting,  by  the  caution  of  the  book- 
seller who  published  it.  This  person,  who  seems  to 
have  been  a  wiser  man  than  his  employers,  justly  deem- 
ing that  the  insertion  of  their  favorite  theories  would 
render  the  work  exceedingly  obnoxious  to  the  government, 
and  probably  occasion  its  prohibition,  took  the  precaution 
to  suppress,  without  consulting  the  authors,  a  large  propor- 
tion of  their  philosophical  speculations.  When  the  work 
was  nearly  through  the  press,  and  it  was  too  late  to  reme- 
dy the  mischief,  the  authors  discovered,  with  dismay,  the 
deception  that  had  been  practised  upon  them.  They 
express  their  indignation  at  this  act  of  petty  treason  in 
their  prudent,  but,  it  must  be  owned,  not  to  them  entirely 
faithful  publisher,  with  a  violence  which,  now  that  their 
labors  are  more  correctly  estimated  than  they  were  at  the 
time  by  themselves,  appears  rather  comic.  The  work  is, 
in  fact,  of  little  or  no  value.  Its  theories  in  the  physical 
sciences  and  their  application  to  the  arts,  have  been  almost 
wholly  superseded  by  the  immense  progress,  since  made 
in  these  departments.  Its  moral  philosophy  was  imme- 
diately refuted  by  the  excesses  of  the  French  Revolution, 
and  is  now  rejected  with  contempt,  by  the  almost  univer- 
sal consent  of  Christendom.  In  short,  gentlemen,  the 
great  French  Encyclopedia,  which  was  intended  by  its 
authors  as  an  Abridgment  of  all  science  at  its  highest  pos- 
sible state  of  perfection,  an  infallible  standard  of  opinion 
and  belief  for  all  future  ages,  had  come,  within  fifty  years 
after  its  publication,  to  be  looked  upon  as  little  better 
than  a  part  of  the  necessary  lumber  of  a  large  library, 

3 


18 

rarely  if  ever  consulted  for  the  purpose  of  instruction,  and 
chiefly  curious  as  one  of  the  most  remarkable  examples  in 
literary  history,  of  an  entire  disproportion  between  the 
grandeur  of  the  effort  and  the  littleness  of  the  perfor- 
mance. 

In  the  meantime,  however,  the  authors  of  the  Encyclo- 
pedia were  industriously,  and  much  more  successfully 
employed  in  disseminating  the  same  doctrines  in  other 
forms.  Under  the  influence  of  the  temporary  public  fa- 
vor, with  which  they  were  received,  these  writers  appear 
to  have  lost  sight  entirely  of  the  real  character  of  their 
opinions,  and  constantly  state  them  with  a  simplicity 
which  renders  them  almost  ludicrous.  GRIMM,  as  I  have 
remarked,  writes  to  the  Duke  of  SAXE-GOTHA,  a  reigning 
Prince,  that  he  should  be  glad  to  know  the  stature  and 
complexion  of  the  Supreme  Being.  D'ALEMBERT,  un- 
doubtedly the  most  judicious  person  of  the  sect,  writes,  in 
his  turn,  to  the  King  of  PRUSSIA,  the  most  powerful  and 
intelligent  Sovereign  in  Europe,  that  he  is  harassed  to 
death  by  his  doubts  upon  what  he  calls  the  terrible 
question,  whether  there  is  any  thing  at  all  in  existence. 
Finally,  HELVETIUS  carries  his  reform  of  moral  science  so 
far,  as  to  affirm  that  the  relation,  naturally  existing  be- 
tween parents  and  children,  is  that  of  hatred.  "  Hence 
arises,"  says  he,  after  some  paltry  sophistry,  which  he 
considers  as  tending  to  this  conclusion,  "  hence  arises  the 
hatred  which  naturally  exists  between  parents  and  child- 
ren." It  is  melancholy  to  reflect,  that  these  revolting 
notions  were,  at  the  time,  generally  received  with  favor 
in  the  highest  circles  on  the  Continent  of  Europe.  Their 
authors,  as  we  have  seen,  were  in  habits  of  personal  inti- 
macy and  correspondence  with  the  most  illustrious  mon- 
archs,  who  were  proud  and  happy  to  treat  them  as  equals. 
The  wealthy  and  titled  classes  practised,  in  daily  life,  the 
lessons  which  were  taught  in  this  school.  In  short,  the 
very  substance  of  society,  in  its  most  exalted  portions, 


19 

under  an  external  varnish  of  refinement  and  elegance,  had 
become  entirely  corrupt,  and  sunk  into  a  state  of  moral 
dissolution. 

This,  gentlemen,  was  the  real  cause  of  the  excesses  of 
the  French  Revolution  ;  which  the  enemies  of  liberty  are 
in  the  habit  of  representing  as  the  natural  results  of  at- 
tempts to  reform  political  abuses,  and  establish  liberal 
institutions.  A  reform  of  government,  undertaken  by 
upright  and  honorable  men,  from  just  views  of  its  necessity, 
may  be  conducted  to  a  close,  with  very  little  danger  of 
abuse  or  excess,  as  is  amply  shewn  by  the  history  of  our 
own  Revolution,  and  that  which  is  now  in  progress  in 
England.  It  was  the  misfortune  of  the  cause  of  liberty 
in  France,  that  the  conduct  of  the  Reform  fell  into  the 
hands  of  men  imbued  with  the  most  erroneous  notions  of 
moral  duty,  and  incapable,  by  character,  of  doing  justice 
to  the  circumstances  in  which  they  were  placed.  It  was 
not  till  one  whole  generation  had  been  swept  from  the 
stage  by  the  tremendous  inflictions  which  their  own 
errors,  faults,  and  crimes,  had  brought  upon  them ;  and 
another,  formed  in  the  stern  school  of  suffering,  to  a  purer 
and  loftier  standard  of  character,  had  taken  their  places, 
that  the  principle  of  liberty  began  to  work  out  its  proper 
effects,  and  open  upon  the  longing  eyes  of  the  gallant 
French  nation,  the  fair  prospect  which  now  seems  to  un- 
fold itself  before  them,  of  a  long  period  of  political  prosper- 
ity, under  a  just,  wise,  and  liberal  government. 

I  shall  have  occasion,  gentlemen,  to  touch  again  upon 
this  topic,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  address.  It  is,  of 
course,  unnecessary  to  say  any  thing  in  refutation  of  the 
doctrines  to  which  I  have  alluded,  before  an  audience  like 
that  which  I  have  now  the  honor  to  address.  The  bril- 
liant minstrel  of  the  Pleasures  of  Hope,  has  expressed  what 
we  all  feel  upon  the  subject,  in  one  of  the  most  powerful 
passages  of  that  poem. 


20 

Arc  these  the  pompous  tidings  ye  proclaim, 
Lights  of  the  world  and  demigods  of  Fame  ? 
Is  this  your  triumph, — this  your  proud  applause, 
Children  of  Truth,  and  champions  of  her  cause? 
Oh  star-eyed  Science  !  hast  thou  wandered  there 
To  waft  us  home  the  message  of  Despair  ? 
Then  bind  the  palm,  thy  Sage's  brow  to  suit, 
With  blasted  leaf  and  death-distilling  fruit ! 
Ah  me  !  the  laureate  wreath  that  murder  rears, 
Blood-nursed  and  watered  by  the  widow's  tears, 
Seems  not  so  foul,  so  tainted  or  so  dread, 
As  waves  the  night  shade  o'er  the  skeptic  head. 
What  is  the  bigot's  torch,  the  tyrant's  chain  ? 
I  smile  on  death,  if  heaven-ward  hope  remain; 
But  if  the  warring  winds  of  nature's  strife 
Be  all  the  faithless  charter  of  my  life-; 
If  chance  awaked,  inexorable  power, 
This  frail  and  feverish  being  of  an  hour  ; 
Then  melt,  ye  elements  !  that  formed  in  vain 
This  troubled  pulse  and  visionary  brain  : 
Fade,  ye  wild  flowers;  memorials  of  my  doom  ! 
And  sink,  ye  stars  !  that  light  me  to  the  tomb  ! 

Such,  gentlemen,  was  the  spirit  which  prevailed  in 
the  philosophy  and  literature  of  the  last  century.  The 
true  method  of  escaping  from  its  influence,  was  by  a  di- 
rect appeal  to  the  instructive  good  sense,  and  good  feeling 
of  the  people.  This  appeal  was  made  at  once  in  various 
forms,  and  in  all  parts  of  Europe,  with  a  decision  and 
success,  that  reflect  the  highest  honor  upon  the  intellect- 
ual and  moral  character  of  Christendom.  A  new  philoso- 
phy and  a  new  literature,  animated  by  a  spirit  precisely 
the  reverse  of  that  which  prevailed  in  the  materialist 
school,  coinciding  in  all  their  developements  with  the 
loftiest  views  of  the  nature  and  destiny  of  man,  and  the 
noblest  and  best  feelings  of  the  uncorrupted  heart,  started 
at  once  into  being,  and  have  ever  since  been  gaining  pub- 
lic favor,  until  they  may  be  said  to  have  determined  the 
moral  tendency  of  the  learning  of  the  present  age. 

The  new  Philosophy  to  which  I  allude,  grew  up,  at 
about  the  the  same  time  in  two  different  and  remote 


21 

points  of  Europe,  out  of  the  reflections  of  independent 
thinkers,  reasoning,  without  connexion  or  communi- 
cation with  each  other,  upon  the  same  subjects,  and 
led  by  the  mere  force  of  truth,  to  the  same  conclu- 
sions. REID  in  Scotland,  and  KANT  in  Germany,  had 
the  honor  of  originating  these  two  movements,  and  the 
immediate  object  of  both,  at  the  outset,  was  to  refute  the 
doctrine  of  HUME.  This  is  well  known,  in  regard  to 
REID  ;  and  KANT,  in  the  introduction  to  his  principal  work, 
expressly  states  that  he  was  led  to  undertake  it,  by  a 
wish  to  answer  the  sophistry,  in  the  relation  of  cause  and 
effect,  by  which  HUME  had  attempted  to  sap  the  foun- 
dation of  all  religion.  The  arguments  of  REID  and  KANT, 
however  variously  presented,  and  differing  in  many  points 
of  external  form,  resolve  themselves  alike,  in  the  last  re- 
sult, into  an  appeal  to  the  consciousness  of  every  individ- 
ual, as  the  source  of  his  conviction  of  the  certainty  of 
knowledge,  and  the  reality  of  moral  distinctions.  The 
argument  is  at  bottom  substantially  the  same  with  that 
by  which  Dr.  JOHNSON  replied,  in  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion, to  a  person  who  disputed  the  freedom  of  human  action. 
"  Sir,"  said  the  great  moralist,  in  his  usual  emphatic  style, 
"  Sir,  we  know  we  are  free,  and  there's  an  end  on't." — 
REID,  a  clear  and  correct  thinker,  but  a  rather  cold  and 
dreary  writer,  attracted  but  little  attention,  until  his  views 
had  been  farther  developed  and  recommended  by  the 
warm  and  graceful  eloquence  of  STEWART  ;  and  even  now, 
so  entirely  practical  is  the  tendency  of  the  public  mind  in 
England  and  this  country,  their  philosophy  can  hardly  be 
said  to  have  become  a  subject  of  deep  and  general  interest. 
In  Germany,  on  the  contrary,  where  the  bent  of  public 
opinion  is  not  less  decidedly  towards  abstract  and  meta- 
physical pursuits,  than  it  is  with  us  towards  those  of  prac- 
tical life,  the  philosophy  of  KANT  became,  after  a  short 
interval,  an  object  of  universal  interest,  agitated  for  fifty 
years  the  whole  intellectual  world  through  all  its  depart- 


22 

ments,  materially  affected  the  aspect  of  poetry  and  polite 
literature,  and  finally,  after  passing  through  several  suc- 
cessive transformations  in  the  hands  of  his  successors, 
crossed  the  Rhine, — a  barrier,  as  Madame  de  STAEL  well 
remarks,  more  difficult  of  passage  for  a  book,  than  for  an 
army  of  a  hundred  thousand  men, — and  is  now,  as  devel- 
oped by  the  brilliant  and  commanding  eloquence  of 
COUSIN,  electrifying  France,  and  rousing  the  eager  atten- 
tion of  England  and  America. 

The  limits  of  the  present  occasion  will,  of  course,  pre- 
vent me  from  enlarging  upon  any  branch  of  the  subject, 
and  especially  upon  one  of  so  complex  and  abstract  a 
character  as  metaphysical  philosophy.  But  as  the  name 
of  KANT  has  naturally  presented  itself  in  the  course  of  our 
reflections,  it  may,  perhaps,  be  amusing  to  you,  to  advert 
for  a  moment  to  some  details  of  his  personal  habits  and 
character.  Figure  to  yourselves  then,  gentlemen,  a  little 
old  man  of  the  simplest  appearance  and  manners, — Pro- 
fessor of  Metaphysics  in  the  University  of  Konigsburg,  in 
Prussia, — who,  though  recognised  as  a  person  of  ability, 
has  gone  on  quietly  lecturing,  till  the  age  of  about  sixty, 
without  attracting  in  any  way  the  public  attention.  Un- 
married, unincumbered  with  the  cares  of  a  family,  entirely 
absorbed  in  his  favorite  scientific  pursuits,  he  rises  every 
day  at  the  same  early  hour  of  five,  goes  through  the  same 
routine  of  studies  and  lectures,  takes  a  long  solitary  walk 
over  the  same  ground,  dines  at  home,  commonly  with  two 
or  three  invited  friends,  at  the  same  hour,  and  after  an- 
other course  of  evening  study,  retires  early  to  renew  the 
same  routine  on  the  following  day.  This  is  hardly  the 
sort  of  character,  gentlemen,  from  which  you  would  have 
expected  a  revolution  in  intellectual  philosophy.  But  the 
highest  results,  especially  in  abstract  science,  are,  after  all, 
generally  produced  by  a  long  course  of  close,  undisturbed, 
solitary  thinking.  At  length,  the  principal  work  of  KANT, 
entitled  an  Examination  of  pure  Reason,  makes  its  ap- 


23 

pearance.  It  forms  a  single  thick  octavo  volume.  The 
style  is  repulsive  and  fatiguing  to  the  last  degree  ;  and  is 
embarrassed  by  an  entirely  new  nomenclature,  which 
renders  the  work  unintelligible,  without  the  strongest  effort 
of  attention,  even  to  those  most  familiar  with  the  subject 
and  the  language.  It  falls  apparently  lifeless  from  the 
press.  For  three  years  it  remains  entirely  unnoticed,  and 
the  publisher  is  on  the  point  of  sending  the  whole  edition 
to  be  used  as  waste  paper,  when  an  article  in  one  of  the 
literary  journals  first  directed  the  public  attention  to  the 
work.  Having  once  become  an  object  of  attention,  the 
fatiguing  and  repulsive  character  of  the  style,  was  rather 
a  recommendation  than  otherwise,  with  the  patient  Ger- 
mans. They  mastered  the  new  nomenclature,  a  labor 
equivalent  to  that  of  learning  a  new  language,  and  reached 
the  substance  of  the  doctrine.  The  leading  principle,  as 
I  remarked  just  now,  is  the  appeal  to  consciousness,  or 
the  original,  internal  conviction  of  the  mind,  as  the  evi- 
dence of  the  certainty  of  knowledge,  and  the  reality  of 
moral  distinctions.  This  principle  commanded  at  once 
the  general  assent,  and  triumphed,  in  a  moment,  over  the 
wretched  sophistry  of  the  preceding  school,  which,  in  fact, 
retired  from  the  field  without  a  struggle.  In  the  various 
commentaries,  explanations,  attacks  and  defences,  which 
now  followed  each  other  in  rapid  succession,  and  which 
make  up,  in  a  great  measure,  the  philosophical  literature 
in  Germany,  for  the  last  sixty  years,  the  leading  principle 
alluded  to  is  generally  admitted,  and  the  controversy 
turns  upon  points  of  application  and  detail.  In  the  mean 
time  the  modest  philosopher  emerges  from  obscurity,  and 
becomes  a  shining  mark  for  the  gaze  of  admiring  disci- 
ples. His  lecture  room  is  crowded ;  his  humble  mansion 
overflows  with  visitors ;  but  without  being  much  moved 
by  this  change  in  his  position,  he  quietly  pursues  the  even 
tenor  of  his  way  as  before,  and  finally  expires,  at  a  very 
advanced  age,  without  having  ever  left  the  city  of  Ko- 


24 

nigsburg,  from  the  time  when  he  entered  it  to  take  his 
place  as  Professor  in  the  University. 

What  a  contrast,  gentlemen,  between  this  quiet,  labo- 
rious, unpretending  existence,  and  the  brilliant  position  of 
COUSIN,  the  present  most  prominent  Representative  of  the 
German  philosophy,  or  rather  of  the  Scotch  and  German 
schools  united,  for  he  seems  to  have  brought  together 
these  two  different  developements  of  the  same  principle, 
into  one  harmonious  whole  !  COUSIN  was  educated  under 
the  instruction  of  ROYER-COLLARD,  in  the  doctrines  of  the 
Edinburgh  school ;  and  in  his  earliest  writings,  confined 
himself  to  an  exposition  of  them.  He  soon,  however,  be- 
came aware  of  the  somewhat  narrow  and  limited  scope  of 
their  inquiries,  and  sought  a  new  inspiration  in  the  bolder 
daring  and  wider  reach  of  the  Germans.  He  also  explored 
with  singular  zeal  and  assiduity,  the  rich  field  of  the  Greek 
philosophy,  at  its  earlier  and  later  periods.  From  the 
copious  materials  supplied  by  these  various  sources,  and 
from  the  original  exercise  of  his  own  acute  and  powerful 
mind,  he  has  formed  a  system,  which,  with  the  recom- 
mendation of  his  brilliant  eloquence,  has  created  an  ex- 
traordinary sensation  throughout  Europe,  and  given  to  its 
author  a  wider  extent  of  personal  influence  and  popular- 
ity than  had  ever  been  obtained  by  any  merely  metaphys- 
ical philosopher  of  modern  times.  The  leading  principle 
in  his  system  is  the  same  with  that  of  KANT  and  REID. 
In  developing  his  views,  he  follows  very  much  the  lead, 
and  adopts,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  manner  and  language 
of  the  Germans.  Like  them,  he  is  bold,  excursive,  sys- 
tematic ;  and  sometimes,  perhaps,  like  them,  obscure  and 
fanciful.  But  his  doctrine,  even  when  questionable,  is 
always  of  a  lofty  and  generous  character,  contrasting  most 
honorably  with  the  grovelling  and  debasing  spirit  of  the 
sensual  school.  He  included  in  the  range  of  his  inquiries 
the  Philosophy  of  History  ;  a  new  sience,  as  yet  almost 
wholly  untouched,  although  one  of  wider  application,  and 


25 

higher  practical  importance  than  almost  any  other.  OR 
this  grand  subject,  his  views,  if  not  always  convincing, 
are  startling  from  their  novelty,  imposing  by  their  vast- 
ness,  and  rendered  plausible,  at  least,  by  the  most  brilliant 
and  various  illustrations.  There  is  no  doubt,  however, 
that  his  lectures  on  this,  and  all  other  parts  of  his  system 
derived  their  great  popularity,  chiefly  from  the  attention 
of  his  commanding  eloquence.  They  were  delivered, 
extempore  at  the  University  of  Paris,  to  audiences  of  not 
less  than  five  or  six  thousand  persons,  and  such  was  the 
interest,  which  they  inspired,  that  they  were  regularly  re- 
ported for  the  newspapers,  like  the  proceedings  of  the  po- 
litical assemblies.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  making  his  ac- 
quaintance, at  my  last  visit  to  Paris,  and  found  his 
conversation  not  less  rich,  brilliant  and  instructive,  than 
his  lectures  and  writings.  He  was  preparing  at  that  time 
to  devote  a  portion  of  his  labor  to  practical  politics,  and 
said  to  me,  at  the  last  interview  which  I  had  with  him, 
that  he  thought  of  yielding  to  the  solicitations  of  some  of 
his  friends,  who  wished  him  to  become  a  candidate  for  the 
House  of  Deputies.  But  before  this  arrangement  could 
be  carried  into  effect,  a  just  appreciation  of  his  merit,  by 
the  executive  department  of  the  government,  placed  him 
in  the  higher  and  more  permanent  situation  of  a  Peer  of 
Francfe  :  a  place  to  which  he  has  done  distinguished  hon- 
x>r,  by  his  splendid  eloquence,  exercised  chiefly  in  unwea- 
ried efforts  in  the  cause  of  education  and  public  improve- 
ment. He  is  still  in  the  vigor  of  life,  and  may  probably 
wield  the  sceptre  of  philosophy  for  twenty  years  to  come. 
In  his  hands,  it  will  always  indicate  the  ascendancy  of 
just  principles,  and  elevated  sentiments. 

But  Philosophy,  even  in  its  most  attractive  form,  and 
when  aided  by  the  charms  of  the  most  seductive  eloquence, 
addresses  itself  to  a  comparatively  very  limited  portion  of 
society,  while  the  influence  of  polite  literature  is  almost 
universal.  The  reaction  that  took  place  in  literature 

4 


26 

against  the  immoral  spirit  of  the  sensual  school,  was, 
therefore,  practically,  even  more  important  than  the  philo^- 
sophical  reform  to  which  I  have  adverted.  Literature, 
which  in  the  hands  of  VOLTAIRE  and  his  contemporaries 
was  rapidly  becoming  licentious,  had  degenerated,  in  those 
of  their  successors,  as  I  have  already  remarked,  into  a 
sink  of  open  and  undisguised  pollution.  It  had  already 
struck  an  incurable  taint  to  the  very  core  of  society,  es^- 
pecially  in  France,  when  the  reaction,  to  which  I  have 
alluded,  commenced  with  the  writings  of  the  celebrated 
ROUSSEAU. 

The  names  of  VOLTAIRE  and  ROUSSEAU  are  commonly 
associated  together,  and  rightly  so,  as  those  of  the  two 
most  prominent  persons  in  the  literature  of  the  last  cen^ 
tury.  In  most  other  respects,  they  have  not  only  very 
little  in  common,  but  stand,  in  regard  to  each  other,  in 
the  most  direct  and  pointed  opposition.  Though  both 
Frenchmen,  and  both  inhabiting,  for  many  years,  the 
little  territory  of  Geneva,  they  never  saw  each  other,  and 
were  totally  unlike  in  their  moral  dispositions,  their  intel- 
lectual powers  and  habits,  and  their  modes  of  life.  VOL- 
TAIRE, in  his  moral  character,  was  light,  cheerful,  satirical. 
ROUSSEAU,  grave,  stern,  and  serious,  even  to  insanity. 
Their  literary  characteristics  correspond  with  these  differ- 
ences. VOLTAIRE,  fluent,  copious,  graceful,  pointed,  and 
brilliant,  but  withal  superficial.  ROUSSEAU,  with  not  less 
point  and  elegance,  rich,  nervous,  original,  profound  ;  a 
keen  and  close  reasoner,  thinking  powerfully,  and  express- 
ing his  thoughts  in  "words  that  burn."  Their  respective 
courses  of  life  may  have  contributed  to  increase  these 
differences,  which  were,  no  doubt,  in  part,  inherent  in 
their  original  constitutions.  VOLTAIRE,  belonging  by  ex- 
traction to  the  middling  class,  raised  himself  at  once  by 
the  seductive  charm  of  his  manner,  to  an  intimate  famili- 
arity with  the  very  highest  circles,  with  which  he  con- 
jtjnued  to  identify  himself  through  life.  ROUSSEAU  was 


27 

the  son  of  a  poor  mechanic,  and  being  naturally  of  a 
reserved  and  timid,  as  well  as  proud  and  aspiring  charac- 
ter, made  himself  known  very  slowly  to  the  world.  He 
passed  the  first  forty  years  of  his  life  in  obscurity,  and  in 
the  humblest  social  relations, — occasionally  as  low  as  that 
of  a  domestic  servant.  Even  in  his  later  periods,  after  he 
had  acquired  his  great  reputation,  and  was  visited,  as  an 
object  of  curiosity,  by  the  most  distinguished  persons  from 
all  parts  of  Europe,  he  could  find  no  better  method  of 
supplying  himself  with  the  ordinary  means  of  subsistence, 
than  that  of  copying  music  at  a  fixed  price  by  the  sheet. 
Crushed  to  the  earth  by  this  overwhelming  load  of 
humiliation,  while  he  was  conscious  all  the  time  of  pos- 
sessing intellectual  powers  of  the  highest  order,  his  whole 
soul  revolted  against  a  condition  of  society,  which  was 
fraught  for  him  with  so  much  injustice.  Hence  the  staple 
of  his  writings  is  a  stern  and  bitter  denunciation  of  the 
existing  institutions,  political,  social,  and  religious ;  a  con- 
stant inculcation  of  the  absolute  necessity  of  searching, 
unflinching,  thorough-going,  radical  reform.  In  this  par- 
ticular, his  object  is  the  same  with  that  of  VOLTAIRE  ;  and 
this  agreement  in  the  practical  tendency  of  their  writings, 
is  one  principal  reason  why  their  names  are  so  frequently 
classed  together.  But  the  spirit,  in  which  they  respect- 
ively labor  to  effect  this  reform,  is  any  thing  but  similar. 
VOLTAIRE,  while  he  laughs  at  the  follies  and  vices  of  the 
great,  belongs,  by  his  manners  and  habits  of  life,  to  their 
circle.  His  morality,  like  theirs,  is  loose  and  sensual. 
ROUSSEAU  sees  the  excesses  of  the  higher  classes  of  society 
without  having  it  in  his  power  to  enjoy  the  luxuries  with 
which  they  are  associated.  Hence  he  is  led  to  attack  the 
immorality  of  the  age,  and  the  sophistry  by  which  it  is 
defended,  not  less  vigorously,  than  the  essential  errors  in 
the  frame-work  of  government.  Fatigued  by  unsuccess- 
ful efforts  to  emerge  from  obscurity,  distracted  by  the 
cares  and  passions  of  life,  he  at  length  seizes,  with  a 


28 

sort  of  agonising  grasp,  one  great  principle  ;  the  necessity 
of  appealing  to  nature,  from  the  abuses  and  corruptions 
of  society.  This  principle  is  the  Polar  Star,  by  which  he 
steers  his  course  in  his  subsequent  writings.  It  coincides, 
in  substance,  with  that  which  formed  the  basis  of  the  phi- 
losophical reform,  to  which  I  have  adverted.  The  reform- 
ers in  philosophy,  appealed  from  the  cloudy  mystifications 
of  a  malignant  sophistry,  to  the  original,  instructive  con- 
victions of  the  mind.  ROUSSEAU  brought  the  practical 
abuses  of  society,  to  the  judgment  seat  of  the  uncorrupted 
heart.  In  applying  and  carrying  out  this  principle,  he  is 
often  mistaken,  extravagant ;  but  it  cannot  be  denied  that 
the  principle  itself  is  grand,  lucid,  and  substantially  true. 

In  his  first  literary  effort  of  any  consequence,  ROUSSEAU 
exhibited  at  once  the  beauty  of  his  principle,  and  the 
wildest  reach  of  extravagance  to  which  it  could  pos- 
sibly be  carried.  A  literary  institution,  in  one  of  the 
provincial  cities  of  France,  offered  a  prize  for  the  best 
essay  on  the  comparative  advantage  of  savage  and  social 
life.  In  the  one  which  ROUSSEAU  wrote,  and  which 
gained  the  prize,  he  enlarges  in  the  most  eloquent  and 
convincing  terms  upon  the  abuses  of  existing  institutions, 
and  the  advantages  of  a  state  of  nature  ;  but  he  falls  into 
the  fatal  error  of  supposing  this  state  of  nature  to  be  a 
state  of  individual  independence  in  the  absence  of  all  so- 
ciety ;  as  if  there  was  no  medium  between  a  corrupt  and 
abusive  form  of  society,  and  no  society  at  all ;  or  as  if 
a  state  of  individual  independence  were  in  itself  possible. 
It  does  not  seem  to  occur  to  him,  in  the  ardor  of  his  zeal, 
that  reform  is  one  thing  and  destruction  another ;  that 
society  is  itself  the  natural  state  of  man,  and  is  the  more 
conformable  to  his  nature  in  proportion  as  it  is  more  per- 
fect as  a  form  of  society.  The  power  and  beauty  of  the 
style,  in  connexion  with  the  essential  correctness  of  the 
leading  principle,  attracted  the  public  attention,  and  fixed 
at  once  the  reputation  of  the  author.  In  his  other  works 


29 

which  followed  in  rapid  succession,  he  pursues  substantial- 
ly the  same  track,  and  displays  the  same  mixture  of  truth 
and  extravagance,  in  the  same  rich,  nervous,  and  polished 
style.  The  style  of  Rousseau,  which  is  generally  regard- 
ed as  the  most  finished  form  in  which  the  French  lan- 
guage has  ever  been  exhibited,  was  so  remarkable,  that  it 
became  during  his  life  time  a  matter  of  curiosity  to  as- 
certain the  secret  of  its  excellence.  A  principal  of  one  of 
the  Jesuits'  colleges,  inquired  of  him  one  day,  how  he  had 
been  able  to  write  so  well.  /  said  what  I  thought,  was 
the  reply  of  the  somewhat  unceremonious  citizen  of  Ge- 
neva, conveying  at  once,  and  in  the  shortest  possible  form, 
the  best  exposition  of  his  own  system,  and  the  most  sig- 
nificant rebuke  of  that,  which  was  attributed  to  the 
inquirer. 

The  most  important  works  of  ROUSSEAU,  are  the  Neu? 
Eloisa,  the  Emilius,  and  the  Social  Contract.  The  first, 
which  is  a  series  of  philosophical  essays  in  the  form  of  a 
novel,  was  devoured  in  the  latter  character  by  one  class  of 
readers,  and  studied  with  intense  interest  in  the  former, 
by  another.  It  is  far  too  free  in  its  moral  tone,  for  the 
more  correct  taste  of  the  present  age ;  but  for  that  very 
reason,  was  probably  more  useful  at  the  time  when  it  was- 
written ;  the  moral  feeling  of  the  reading  classes  having, 
then  become  so  corrupt,  that  a  work  in  a  purer  and  better 
taste,  would  have  stood  no  chance  of  being  read.  The 
Emilius,  on  the  whole  the  most  perfect  and  finished  of 
ROUSSEAU'S  works,  is  essentially  an  essay  on  education  'r 
but  the  subject  is  treated  in  so  large  and  comprehensive  a 
way,  that  it  naturally  leads  to  observations  on  almost  every 
topic  of  high  moral  interest.  It  includes  among  other 
things  the  celebrated  Confession  of  the  Savoyard  Vicar y 
one  of  the  most  eloquent  defences  of  natural  religion,  and 
of  revelation  under  some  of  its  aspects,  that  has  ever  • 
appeared.  Although  ROUSSEAU  has  sometimes  been  classed 
among  infidels,  it  was  not  without  reason  that  he  wa» 


30 

rather  pettishly  described  by  HUME  in  conversation  as  "no 
better  than  a  Christian  in  his  own  way."  His  Social 
Contract,  entitles  him  to  the  praise  of  an  ardent,  if  not 
always  judicious  and  well  directed  love  of  liberty.  This 
work  purports  to  be  a  portion  of  a  larger  one,  which  the 
author  had  projected,  but  never  executed.  It  is  written 
with  great  power,  spirit  and  eloquence,  and  has  essentially 
aided  the  cause  of  liberty  in  Europe,  although  the  doctrine 
will  hardly  bear  a  strict  examination.  The  idea  of  found- 
ing society  and  government  upon  a  contract  between  in- 
dividuals, though  somewhat  plausible,  is,  to  say  the  least 
of  it,  by  no  means  clear  of  doubt.  Society  is,  in  fact,  as 
I  just  now  remarked,  the  natural  state  of  man  ;  and  any 
theory,  which  supposes  it  to  be  artificially  formed  on 
whatever  principles,  must  be  essentially  erroneous  in  its 
very  foundation. 

As  ROUSSEAU  advanced  in  years,  he  became,  by  the  ef- 
fect of  these  sucessive  publications,  with  the  exception  of 
VOLTAIRE,  the  most  popular  writer  in  Europe.  Enthusi- 
astically admired  by  the  fair  and  young,  who  compose  the 
mass  of  the  reading  public,  he  was,  at  the  same  time, 
studied  by  the  deepest  thinkers,  and  even  consulted  by 
nations  upon  the  arrangement  of  their  political  institutions. 
One  of  his  published  works  is  a  reply  to  a  distinguished 
Polish  nobleman,  who  had  addressed  him  a  letter  in  the 
name  of  some  deliberative  assembly  upon  a  projected  re- 
form in  the  government.  This  was  an  extent  of  popular- 
ity and  influence,  which  even  VOLTAIRE  had  hardly 
attained,  and  which  has,  perhaps,  never  fallen  to  the  lot 
of  any  other  man  than  ROUSSEAU.  It  is  melancholy  to  re- 
flect how  little  this  extraordinary  success  contributed  to 
his  happiness.  Compelled,  at  the  height  of  his  reputation, 
by  his  own  total  want  of  worldly  wisdom,  and  by  the 
culpable  neglect  of  those  who  ought  to  have  provided  for 
him,  to  earn  by  a  merely  mechanical  employment  of  the 
most  laborious  character,  a  bare  subsistance  ; — wretched 


31 

by  his  own  fault  in  his  social  and  family  relations,  he 
passed  his  life  in  the  depths  of  almost  uninterrupted  gloom, 
which,  at  length,  in  his  later  years,  impaired  the  integrity 
of  his  understanding,  and  drove  him,  in  a  fit  of  insanity, 
to  the  commission  of  suicide.  He  furnishes  one  of  the  fatal 
instances,  so  frequent  in  the  history  of  men  of  genius, 
which  vindicate  but  too  successfully  the  ways  of  Provi- 
dence, in  the  distribution  of  the  gifts  of  intellect,  and 
prove  that  the  possessors  of  the  loftiest  talents  have  too 
much  reason,  so  far  as  their  own  happiness  is  concerned, 
to  covet  rather  than  despise  the  lot  of  unaspiring,  but,  as 
Horace  well  calls  it,  golden  medirocrity. 

The  brilliant  success  of  the  writings  of  ROUSSEAU,  gave 
a  new  direction  to  the  public  taste,  in  polite  literature,  and 
led  to  the  gradual  formation  of  a  new  school,  directly  op- 
posite in  its  spirit  and  character  to  that  which  had  been 
fashionable  through  the  earlier  part  of  the  century.  ST. 
PIERRE,  the  personal  friend  of  ROUSSEAU,  though  consider- 
ably younger,  led  the  way  by  his  charming  Paul  and 
Virginia.  Madame  de  STAEL,  then  a  young  lady  in  her 
teens,  made  her  brilliant  debut  on  the  literary  stage,  which 
was  afterwards  to  her  the  scene  of  so  much  glory,  by  her 
Letters  on  the  character  and  writings  of  Rousseau. 
CHATEAUBRIAND,  under  the  influence  of  the  same  inspira- 
tion, poured  out  the  first  Sowings  of  his  powerful  and  pro- 
lific genius  in  his  learned  and  vigorous,  though  somewhat 
immature  Essay  on  Revolutions.  Similar  circumstances 
produced  at  the  same  time  a  similar  result  in  other  parts 
of  Europe.  WIELAND,  the  VOLTAIRE  of  Germany,  not 
less  gay  and  graceful,  though  happily  far  more  decorous 
than  the  Patriarch  of  Ferney,  was  yet  compelled,  in  the 
noon  day  of  his  glory,  to  yield  the  palm  of  popularity  and 
influence  to  SCHILLER  and  GOETHE,  who  had  drawn  their 
inspiration  from  the  higher  sources  of  nature  and  SHAK- 
SPEARE.  In  England,  where,  as  I  have  remarked,  polite 
literature,  was  at  this  time  at  a  low  ebb,  Dr.  JOHNSON, 


32 

in  himself  a  host, — a  poet  in  all  his  writings,  even  to  his 
Dictionary,  defended,  almost  alone,  for  thirty  years,  the 
citadel  of  truth,  against  the  inroads  of  an  immoral  sophis- 
try, until  the  CAMPBELLS,  SCOTTS,  COLERIDGES,  SOUTHTS 
and  WORDSWORTHS,  the  JEFFREYS,  GIFFORDS,  and  BROUGH- 
AMS, the  MACKINTOSHES  and  BURKES  of  later  years  came 
on  to  the  rescue.  In  short,  gentlemen,  there  has  been  since 
the  time  of  ROUSSEAU,  and  the  opening  of  the  French 
Revolution,  no  writer  of  commanding  genius  in  any  part 
of  Europe,  who  has  followed  in  the  track  of  the  French 
school,  with  perhaps,  the  exception  of  the  great  English 
brother  poets,  BYRON  and  MOORE  ;  and  even  in  these,  the 
licentious  and  frivolous  French  spirit,  which  predominates 
in  some  of  their  works,  is  tempered  and  mixed  up  with  so 
much  powerful  thought  and  true  and  deep  feeling,  that 
we  plainly  see  the  triumph  of  the  better  principle,  even  in 
minds  where  the  worse  exercises  but  too  much  influence. 
While  a  strong,  spontaneous  reaction  was  thus  taking 
place,  against  the  immoral  spirit  that  had  previously  pre- 
vailed in  literature,  the  practical  results  of  that  spirit  were 
rendered  more  apparent  than  they  had  ever  been  before, 
by  the  horrors  that  marked  the  commencement  of  the 
French  Revolution.  These  are  a  standing  reproach  upon 
the  cause  of  liberty,  and  the  principle  of  liberty  is  often 
held  responsible  for  their  occurrence.  This  charge,  gen- 
tlemen, as  I  have  already  intimated,  is  unjust  and  untrue. 
It  was  not  any  error  in  the  principles  of  government,  pro- 
fessed by  the  friends  of  liberty  in  France  ;  but  it  was  the 
looseness  of  their  notions,  on  the  relations  of  private  life, 
and  on  the  solemn  responsibilities  of  man  to  his  Creator, 
which  blasted  for  a  time  the  fruits  of  all  their  political 
exertions.  The  heroes  of  the  earliest  period  of  the  Revo- 
lution, many  of  them  persons  of  the  highest  talents  and 
the  best  intentions,  had  generally  been  brought  up  in  the 
atheistical  school  of  morals  and  religion.  MIRABEAU,  the 
•Colossus  of  his  country's  freedom,  the  JOHN  ADAMS  of  the 


33 

French  Revolution, — was,  by  general  acknowledgment, 
the  most  immoral  man  of  his  age.  His  younger  brother, 
the  Viscount  de  MIRABEAU,  also  a  person  of  distinguished 
talent  and  great  looseness  of  morals,  but  eclipsed  in  both 
respects  by  his  elder  brother  the  Count,  was  accustomed 
to  remark,  that  "  in  any  other  family  he  should  have  been 
a  wit  and  a  rogue,  but  that  in  his  own,  he  was  a  fool  and 
a  saint."  MIRABEAU  had  a  maxim,  which  was  truly  char- 
acteristic of  the  man,  but  of  which  it  is  somewhat  difficult 
to  give  a  literal  English  translation.  La  petite  morale  tue 
la  grande.  "  Good  morals  in  little  things,  are  fatal  to 
good  morals  in  great  things."  The  meaning  is,  that  a 
person  who  scrupulously  observes  all  the  moral  rules  for 
private  conduct,  will  find  himself  so  much  hampered  that 
he  will  never  be  able  to  succeed  in  any  great  enterprise, 
and,  consequently,  will  never  be  able  to  practice  good 
morals  on  a  large  scale.  The  idea  is  rather  ingenious,  but, 
as  I  need  not  say,  is  directly  the  reverse  of  the  truth.  A 
scrupulous  observance  of  all  the  rules  of  private  conduct, 
is,  generally  speaking,  absolutely  indispensable,  in  every 
individual,  to  the  full  developement  of  his  capacity  for 
public  usefulness  ;  and  he  will  consequently,  other  cir- 
cumstances being  equal,  be  more  useful  as  a  public  man, 
in  proportion  as  he  is  more  correct  as  a  private  one.  A 
comparison  of  the  private  lives  of  the  leaders  of  the 
American  and  French  Revolutions,  would  go  far  to 
account  for  the  difference  in  their  character  and  re- 
sults ;  and  the  example  of  MIRABEAU  himself  furnished 
the  most  complete  refutation  that  could  possibly  have 
been  given,  of  his  own  theory.  The  ultimate  failure  of 
all  his  efforts  to  make  himself  useful  to  his  country  and 
the  world,  may  be  traced  immediately  to  the  gross  licen- 
tiousness of  his  private  life,  which  compelled  him,  though 
possessed  of  talents  as  splendid,  perhaps,  as  Providence 
ever  bestowed  upon  a  human  being,  to  pass  his  earlier 
years  in  disgrace,  poverty,  imprisonment,  and  exile,  and 

5 


34 

finally  terminated  his  life,  at  the  moment  when  he  had 
obtained  something  like  a  fair  field  for  the  exercise  of  his 
powers,  and  might,  perhaps,  have  succeeded  in  guiding 
the  fiery  car  of  Revolution  to  the  desired  goal  of  regulated 
liberty.  The  acts  of  the  Constituent  and  Legislative  As- 
semblies, which  abolished  marriage,  set  aside  public  wor- 
ship, and  declared  death  an  eternal  sleep,  sufficiently 
evinced,  that  the  sentiments  of  the  majority  of  the  law- 
givers of  France  were  in  unison  with  those  of  MIRABEAU 
and  the  atheistical  school.  Such  was  at  this  time  the 
intense  aversion  to  religious  ideas,  that  when  BERNARDIN 
DE  ST.  PIERRE  read  before  the  French  Academy  an  essay 
in  proof  of  the  existence  of  God,  it  was  actually  resented 
by  several  members  as  a  personal  affront,  in  the  usual  form 
of  a  challenge  to  single  combat.  The  rivers  of  innocent 
blood,  that,  for  years  in  succession,  daily  ran  down  the 
streets  of  Paris,  furnished  the  natural  commentary  on  the 
political  effect  of  these  principles.  But  this  state  of  things 
was  too  violent  and  unnatural  to  last ;  and  the  leaders  in 
these  horrors,  at  their  worst  period,  seem  to  have  felt  at 
last  that  power,  however  fearfully  exerted,  must  have 
some  basis  in  moral  and  religious  principle.  ROBESPIERRE 
himself,  not  long  before  his  death,  condescended  to  extend 
his  patronage  to  the  Supreme  Being,  decreed  his  existence 
and  established  a  public  festival  in  his  honor.  The  Di- 
rectory, which  succeeded  ROBESPIERRE  in  the  govern- 
ment, re-established  public  worship  under  a  fantastic  form 
of  their  own  creation.  Finally,  NAPOLEON,  though  false  to 
the  cause  of  liberty,  was  too  true  to  his  own  interest  not 
to  perceive  that  his  empire,  to  be  solid,  must  rest  upon 
Religion.  Sweeping  off  with  his  iron  sceptre  the  paltry 
mummery  of  the  revolutionary  school,  he  re-opened  the 
desecrated  churches,  and  restored  public  worship  in  the 
venerable  forms  of  the  ancient  Catholic  faith. 

Religion  and  morality  were  now  once  more  in  repute, 
and  a  new  vigor  was,  of  course,  imparted  to  the  impulse 


35 

in  their  favor,  which,  as  I  remarked  just  now,  had  com- 
menced in  literature  before  the  opening  of  the  Revolution. 
NAPOLEON  extended  his  patronage  and  favor  to  the  fine 
spirits,  already  mentioned,  who  had  first  followed  that 
impulse.  ST.  PIERRE  was  rewarded  by  a  pension,  arid  an 
apartment  in  the  Palace.  He  was  also  offered  a  seat  in 
the  Senate,  which  would  have  brought  with  it  a  large 
increase  of  his  pension  ;  but  this  he  nobly  declined  ;  not 
choosing  to  throw  the  mantle  of  his  brilliant  European 
reputation  over  the  political  conduct  of  this  great  Apos- 
tate from  the  cause  of  liberty.  I  had  the  pleasure,  at  this 
period  of  his  life,  of  meeting  at  Paris  with  the  author  of 
Paul  and  Virginia.  He  was  then  an  aged  man,  on  the 
verge  of  fourscore,  of  the  most  venerable  appearance,  with 
long  white  locks,  flowing  down  loosely  over  his  shoulders. 
The  amiable  spirit  which  prevails  in  his  writings,  had 
secured  him  through  life  the  favor  of  the  sex ;  and  he 
had,  not  long  before,  espoused  in  second  nuptials  a  noble 
and  beautiful  young  lady  of  about  seventeen,  who  scrupled 
not  to  entwine  with  the  fresh  roses  of  her  first  love,  a 
brow,  which,  though  white  with  the  frost  of  nearly  four- 
score winters,  was  radiant  with  the  two  fold  light  of  be- 
nevolence and  glory.  A  living  Paul  and  Virginia,  the 
fruits  of  a  former  marriage,  played  round  his  knees.  He 
had  been  long  unfortunate  in  the  earlier  part  of  his  life, 
but  for  many  years  before  his  death  he  was  a  happy  man. 
ST.  PIERRE  hardly  realised,  in  his  later  productions,  the 
brilliant  promise  of  the  first.  The  stormy  period  of  the 
Revolution  afforded,  in  fact,  to  persons  of  his  way  of 
thinking,  very  little  scope  for  literary  effort.  His  larger 
works,  entitled  Studies  of  Nature  and  Harmonics  of  Na- 
ture, though  containing  many  thrilling  passages  and  writ- 
ten throughout  in  a  beautiful  style,  are  now  not  much  read. 
His  reputation  rests  on  that  charming  little  work,  in  which 
his  ardent  love  and  true  feeling  of  nature,  speak,  through 
the  medium  of  a  simple  pastoral  tale,  directly  to  the  hearts 


36 

of  the  fair  and  young.  Their  tears  will  embalm  his 
memory,  and  their  sweet  voices  will  sing  his  praise  in 
distant  lands  and  future  ages,  when  his  own  larger  works, 
with  the  bulky  productions  of  many  other  writers  of  no 
small  note  in  their  day,  are  forgotten. 

CHATEAUBRIAND,  who  had  emigrated  at  the  opening  of 
the  Revolution,  now  returned  to  France,  a  wiser  man 
than  when  he  published  his  first  immature  production,  and 
soon  after  committed  to  press  his  Essay  on  the  Genius  of 
Christianity,  including  the  little  romance  of  Atala,  which 
appeared  separately  in  advance,  as  a  lure  to  the  public 
attention.  The  brilliant  style,  and  lofty  moral  and  re- 
ligious tone  of  the  Genius  of  Christianity,  aided  very  much 
in  accomplishing  the  change,  which  had  long  been  in 
progress  in  the  spirit  of  polite  literature.  NAPOLEON  felt 
the  value  of  such  co-operation.  He  immediately  employed 
the  author  in  the  diplomatic  service,  arid  raised  him  rap- 
idly to  the  rank  of  Minister  Plenipotentiary.  But  M.  de 
CHAUTEAUBRIAND  was  pretty  soon  disgusted  with  the  ar- 
bitrary character  of  the  administration  of  NAPOLEON,  and 
surrendered  the  political  honors  which  he  could  only  re- 
tain by  what  he  considered  a  sacrifice  of  principle.  He 
furnishes  another  example,  in  addition  to  that  of  ST.  PIERRE 
just  mentioned,  and  our  own  illustrious  LAFAYETTE,  of  a 
distinguished  Frenchman  who  preferred  independent 
poverty  to  the  splendid  servitude  of  the  Imperial  Court. 
Learning  gained  what  the  state  lost.  From  that  time  to 
this,  through  all  the  vicissitudes  of  a  varied  life,  he  has 
continued  to  pour  forth  an  uninterrupted  series  of  publica- 
tions, sometimes  literary,  sometimes  political, — always 
powerful  and  brilliant, — which,  in  the  opinion  of  many, 
have  established  his  claim  to  the  rank  of  the  greatest  writer 
of  the  day.  After  the  fall  of  NAPOLEON,  the  force  of  his 
pen  raised  him  to  the  high  station  of  Minister  of  Foreign 
Affairs, — which,  however,  he  sacrificed  soon  after,  rather 
than  concur  in  what  he  considered  unreasonable  demands 


37 

in  the  head  of  the  government.  He  now  threw  himself 
into  the  opposition,  and  the  effect  of  his  writings  furnishes, 
perhaps,  the  strongest  proof  that  has  ever  been  given  of 
the  political  influence  of  mere  literature.  The  dynasty  of 
CHARLES  X.  fell  before  the  pen  of  CHATEAUBRIAND.  But 
though  hostile  to  the  King,  he  was  true  to  the  Royal 
family;  and  refusing  to  recognise  the  new  settlement,  has 
remained  ever  since  in  retirement, — pouring  forth  volume 
after  volume,  with  the  same  inexhaustible  fertility  as  be- 
fore, up  to  the  present  day.  His  manner  of  composition 
has  been,  however,  for  many  years  past,  too  rapid  to  admit 
the  condensation  of  thought  and  perfection  of  language 
which  are  indispensable  to  real  excellence  ;  and  his  merely 
literary  reputation  rests,  after  all,  very  much  upon  his 
Genius  of  Christianity,  and  especially  the  little  romance 
of  Atala,  which  is  incorporated  in  it.  In  this  production, 
the  scene  of  which  is  laid  in  the  southern  States  of  this 
Union,  the  interest  results  from  the  triumph  of  religious 
feeling,  in  the  heart  of  a  lovely  young  woman,  over  the 
strongest  earthly  passions.  Though  less  sweet  and  touch- 
ing than  Paul  and  Virginia,  it  is  obviously  the  effusion  of 
a  loftier  genius.  The  opinions  of  M.  de  CHATEAUBRIAND 
upon  the  character  and  institutions  of  this  country,  as 
expressed  in  his  writings  and  in  his  conversation,  to 
which  I  had  occasionally  the  pleasure  of  listening  while 
in  Europe,  were  highly  favorable.  He  visited  the  United 
States  in  the  course  of  his  youthful  travels,  and  has 
given  some  very  interesting  descriptions  of  our  natural 
scenery,  and  also  of  the  state  of  society  and  the  charac- 
ers  of  prominent  men,  in  his  work  entitled  Recollections 
of  America.  We  are  indebted  to  him  for  the  striking 
and  profound  remark,  embodied  in  one  of  his  published 
works,  that  "  the  idea  of  a  pure  Representative  Republic, 
as  exhibited  for  the  first  time  in  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States  of  America,  is  the  most  brilliant  scientific 
discovery  of  modern  times." 


38 

The  complete  success  of  M.  de  CHATEAUBRIAND  estab- 
lished the  triumph  of  the  new  school  of  polite  literature. 
A  host  of  imitators  followed,  the  most  remarkable  of 
whom  is  M.  de  la  MARTINE,  a  pupil  not  inferior  in  power 
or  brilliancy  to  his  master,  and  possessing  the  talent  of 
versification,  in  which  CHATEAUBRIAND  is  deficient.  The 
prose  style  of  M.  de  la  MARTINE  has,  for  most  foreigners 
at  least,  more  charm  than  his  verse.  His  travels  in  the 
East  are  one  of  the  most  interesting  productions  of 
modern  times.  Count  de  MAISTRE,  M.  de  BOUALD,  and 
others  have  also  earned  a  high  reputation  by  works  of  a 
similar  general  tendency,  though  varying  very  much  in 
style  and  subject.  But  the  influence  of  this  whole  class 
of  writers  is  somewhat  diminished,  especially  in  Protest- 
ant countries,  by  the  great  importance  which  they  attach 
to  the  peculiar  doctrines  and  even  the  mere  ceremonial 
forms  of  the  Catholic  Church.  Hence  the  writings  of 
Madame  de  STAEL  are  a  more  correct  expression  of  the 
spirit  of  the  present  literary  period,  and  may  be  dwelt  upon, 
as  such,  with  greater  advantage.  It  is  also  agreeable  to 
be  able  to  present  to  you  a  female  writer,  as  the  breathing 
representative  of  this  improved  spirit.  It  was  right  and 
proper,  that  a  sex,  which  owes  its  present  honorable  posi- 
tion, on  a  footing  of  entire  social  equality  with  the  other, 
to  the  influence  of  Religion,  should  reward  the  service, 
by  furnishing  from  its  own  ranks  perhaps  the  most  effect- 
ive champion  that  has  yet  appeared,  of  the  reality  and 
value  of  the  Religious  sentiment,  considered  independ- 
ently of  the  forms  and  doctrines  belonging  to  particular 
modes  of  belief. 

This  distinguished  writer  received  her  education  at  the 
brilliant  Court  of  Louis  XVI.  where  her  father,  M.  NECKAR, 
was  at  the  time  Prime  Minister.  She  might  naturally 
have  been  expected  to  derive  from  such  a  position  a  taste 
for  the  elegancies  and  frivolities  of  fashionable  life,  rather 
than  the  deep  things  of  philosophy  and  learning.  But  the 


39 

influence  of  her  parents,  both  of  whom  were  persons  of 
the  highest  order  of  intellect,  and  that  of  the  society 
which  they  drew  around  them,  seems  to  have  overpowered 
the  natural  tendency  resulting  from  her  situation  in  the 
world.  Her  talents,  originally  of  the  most  extraordinary 
character,  developed  themselves  at  a  very  early  age.  She 
mingled,  while  a  mere  child,  on  an  equal  footing,  in  the 
conversations  of  the  men  of  letters,  who  frequented  her 
father's  house  ;  and  her  Letters  on  the  writings  and  char- 
acter of  Rousseau,  which  exhibit  the  depth  of  thought 
that  belongs  to  a  mature  mind,  were  written  at  the  age  of 
about  seventeen.  She  continued,  after  her  father's  retire- 
ment from  office,  to  reside  at  Paris,  as  the  wife  of  the 
Swedish  Ambassador,  Baron  de  STAEL-HOLSTEIN  ;  and  at 
this  time,  she  wrote  several  lighter  works,  probably  for 
the  purpose  of  attaching  to  her  name  a  popularity  that 
would  ensure  a  more  general  reception  to  her  more  eleva- 
ted productions.  In  these  lighter  works,  her  genius,  of 
which  the  essential  characteristics  were  deep  thought  and 
warm  feeling,  rather  than  poetical  invention,  appears  to 
little  advantage ;  and  it  was  not  until  the  publication  of 
Corinna,  that  she  did  full  justice  to  her  powers  and  es- 
tablished a  completely  European  reputation.  This  charm- 
ing work  is  essentially  a  poem,  on  the  fallen  greatness  and 
glory  of  ancient  Italy, — one  of  the  most  attractive  subjects 
that  could  well  be  imagined,  but  which  singularly  enough, 
though  more  than  once  attempted,  yet  had  never  before 
been  treated  with  any  degree  of  success.  As  a  romance, 
the  work  has  no  great  value.  Corinna  is  the  only  charac- 
ter of  much  interest,  and  she  is  interesting  by  what  she 
says,  rather  than  what  she  does.  We  feel  that  it  is 
Madame  de  STAEL  herself  in  a  poetical  dress  ;  or  rather 
the  Genius  of  Italy,  breathing  out  in  fitting  strains  of  the 
deepest  melancholy,  her  lamentations  over  the  decaying 
monuments  of  her  departed  glory.  The  reputation  of 
Madame  de  STAEL  was  raised  still  higher  by  her  work  on 


40 

Germany,  in  which  she  threw  aside  the  form  of  romance, 
and  confined  herself  to  a  simple,  but  eloquent  and  power- 
ful expression  of  her  personal  observations  and  feelings. 
Here  too  she  exhibits  more  fully  and  forcibly  than  in  her 
other  writings,  the  deep  religious  feeling  which  consti- 
tutes one  of  their  peculiarities,  and  renders  them  the  most 
appropriate  expression  of  the  spirit  of  the  age.  Her  Ten 
Years  in  Exile,  and  her  Considerations  on  the  French 
Revolution,  are  splendid  fragments,  which  make  us  regret 
still  more  deeply  her  untimely  death.  The  latter,  had  she 
completed  it,  would  have  been  her  greatest  work ;  the 
former  probably  the  most  entertaining. 

The  interest  felt  by  the  public  in  her  writings,  was 
very  much  increased  by  the  personal  warfare  which  was 
kept  up  against  her  by  NAPOLEON,  and  the  courage  and  re- 
sources which  she  displayed  in  resisting  it.  It  was  the 
dueen  of  Letters,  contending  with  the  Emperor  of  the 
world.  She  was  well  aware  of  the  influences  of  this  cir- 
cumstance upon  her  reputation,  and  said  one  day  to  the 
Emperor :  "  Sire  !  you  are  giving  me  a  sad  celebrity  ;  1 
shall  occupy  a  page  in  your  history."  Aware  of  her  noble 
independence,  and  liberal  spirit,  he  fears  to  trust  himself 
within  the  sphere  of  her  personal  influence,  and  prohibits 
her  residing  at  Paris.  In  vain  she  solicits  a  relaxation  of 
this  rigorous  sentence.  The  Minister  of  Police  politely 
informs  her  that  the  air  of  the  Metropolis  is  not  good  for 
her  health,  and  that  she  must  seek  refreshment  in  the 
mountains  of  Switzerland.  Her  father,  M.  NECKAR,  had 
lent  two  millions  of  francs  to  the  French  Government,  at 
a  very  doubtful  period  in  the  state  of  the  finances. 
Madame  de  STAEL  now  demands  payment  for  this  sum, 
as  a  just  debt.  She  is  informed,  on  application,  that  she 
cannot  receive  it,  without  giving  satisfactory  evidence  of 
attachment  to  the  person  of  NAPOLEON.  "I  knew,"  said 
she  in  reply,  "  that  in  order  to  recover  a  debt,  it  was  ne- 
cessary for  the  creditor  to  substantiate  his  claim  by  sum"- 


41 

cient  evidence,  but  I  did  not  know,  that  it  was  necessary 
to  make  a  declaration  of  love  to  the  debtor."  The  debt 
remained  unpaid  until  after  the  restoration  of  the  BOUR- 
BONS, when  it  placed  her  in  affluence  for  the  rest  of  her 
life. 

After  her  exile  from  Paris,  Madame  de  STAEL  retired  to 
the  paternal  seat  at  Copet,  in  Switzerland,  where  she 
devoted  her  leisure  to  letters,  and  attention  to  the  old  age 
of  her  father,  whom  she  tenderly  loved.  But  the  jeal- 
ousy of  NAPOLEON  pursued  Her  to  this  retreat,  and  com- 
pelled her  to  take  refuge  in  England,  which  she  reached 
by  a  circuitous  route  through  Germany,  Russia,  and  Eng- 
land, all  direct  intercourse  between  France  and  England 
being  at  that  time  cut  off  by  the  existing  war.  On  ar- 
riving at  London,  she  found  herself,  at  once,  surrounded 
by  a  circle  of  admirers,  and  recognised  as  a  ruling  power 
in  the  world  of  letters.  The  literary  society  of  London 
was  at  that  time  unusually  brilliant,  and  comprehended 
many  individuals  of  the  highest  rank  and  widest  political 
influence.  SCOTT  was  blazing  in  full-orbed  splendor  at 
the  meridian  of  his  glory,  while  BYRON  was  just  shooting, 
like  a  bright,  fitful  meteor,  across  the  literary  sky.  In  a 
lower  order,  the  CAMPBELLS,  the  ROGERSES,  the  MOORES, 
the  SOUTHETS,  the  WORDSWORTHS,  the  GIFFORDS,  mingled 
in  friendly  circles  with  the  most  distinguished  names  in 
either  house  of  Parliament  and  in  general  society, — the 
HALLAMS,  the  JEFFREYS,  the  BROUGHAMS,  the  LANDS- 
DOWNES,  the  CANNINGS.  Above  them  all  shone  conspicu- 
ous as  the  great  light  of  conversation  and  society,  MACK- 
INTOSH, just  returned  from  India,  rich  in  the  various  stores 
of  all  departments  of  moral  science  and  political  learning, 
and  pouring  them  forth,  on  all  occasions,  with  boundless 
prodigality,  in  torrents  of  the  purest  and  richest  eloquence. 
Madame  de  STAEL,  not  less  illustrious  than  himself  for 
conversational  powers,  contested  with  him  from  day  to 
day  the  palm  of  victory  in  this  truly  civil  war,  and  fairly 

6 


42 

divided  with  him  the  empire  of  society.  The  spirit  that 
pervaded  these  circles,  in  which  I  had  occasionally  the 
pleasure  of  going,  as  a  young  listener,  was  entirely  iii 
unison  with  that  which  prevails  in  the  writings  of  Mad- 
ame de  STAEL,  and  in  the  present  school  of  polite  learning  : 
free  from  bigotry,  released  from  a  slavish  subjection  to 
names  and  forms,  but,  at  the  same  time,  pure,  ardent, 
generous,  and  devoted  enthusiastically  to  the  great  inter- 
ests of  man,  Religion  and  Liberty. 

Just  at  this  period  occurred  the  crisis  in  the  affairs  of 
Europe.  The  military  master  of  the  Continent  had  been 
hurled  from  his  seat  of  power,  and,  after  one  desperate  but 
ineffectual  effort  to  recover  it,  had  sunk  forever.  The 
Allied  Sovereigns,  after  sealing  their  triumph  at  the 
Thuileries,  repaired  to  London  to  congratulate  the  Queen 
of  the  Ocean,  in  her  own  island,  upon  their  common  suc- 
cess. They,  too,  were  all,  at  this  moment,  not  merely 
elate  with  the  flush  of  victory,  but  swelling  with  noble 
sentiments  and  full  of  the  fairest  promises  to  the  friends 
of  liberty,  too  many  of  which  have  since  in  calmer  hours 
been  forgotten.  Their  presence  gave  new  life  and 
splendor  to  the  social  circles  of  the  British  Metropolis,  and 
with  this  glittering  caravan,  Madame  de  STAEL  returned 
to  Paris,  where  she  fixed  her  residence  for  the  brief  re- 
mainder of  her  life.  Reinstated  in  the  possession  of  an 
ample  fortune, — borne  aloft  on  the  full  tide  of  fame  and 
success, — she  figured  conspicuously,  as  the  presiding 
genius  of  polite  learning  and  liberal  principles,  till  death 
too  soon  arrested  her  career.  To  her  influence  is  the 
world  very  much  indebted  for  the  seriousness,  the  gene- 
rosity of  sentiment,  the  enthusiastic  ardor  for  religion  and 
liberty,  which  form  the  characteristics  of  the  present  school 
of  polite  learning,  in  contradistinction  from  the  sensuality 
and  frivolousnsss  that  prevailed  in  the  last. 

Lord  BYRON,  in  a  sonnet  written  at  Geneva,  classes 
Madame  de  STAEL  with  ROUSSEAU,  VOLTAIRE,  and  GIBBON. 


43 

ROUSSEAU,  VOLTAIRE,  our  GIBBON,  and  DE  STAEL: 
Leman  !  these  names  are  worthy  of  thy  shore ; 

Thy  shore  of  names  like  these.  Wert  thou  no  more, 
Their  memory  thy  remembrance  would  recall. 

Nothing  could  have  brought  these  names  into  con- 
nexion with  hers,  but  the  accidental  circumstance,  that 
those  who  bore  them  resided  in  the  same  vicinity. — 
ROUSSEAU  is  the  only  one  of  them  whose  genius  has  the 
remotest  affinity  with  that  of  Madame  de  STAEL.  VOL- 
TAIRE and  GIBBON  were  the  spirit  of  mockery  personified. 
ROUSSEAU  was  serious,  profound,  enthusiastic,  like  the 
daughter  of  NECKAR;  but  in  him  the  developement  of 
these  sentiments  had  been  very  much  vitiated  by  the  in- 
fluence of  the  age  in  which  he  lived.  In  her  writings 
they  flow  forth,  in  a  stream  as  fresh  and  pure  as  it  is 
deep,  copious  and  swelling,  to  diffuse  fertility  through  the 
vast  domain  of  letters.  Madame  de  STAEL  was  an  enthu- 
siastic admirer  of  the  institutions  of  this  country ;  and  at 
one  time,  when  she  was  pursued  by  the  jealousy  of  NA- 
POLEON into  the  remotest  corners  of  Europe,  contemplated 
fixing  her  residence  among  us.  As  a  citizen  of  the  United 
State,  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  lay  this  humble  tribute  of 
respect  upon  her  monument,  which,  like  that  of  all  the 
truly  great,  is  to  be  found  in  her  works. 

In  her  work  on  Germany,  Madame  de  STAEL  rendered 
the  same  service  to  the  German  literature,  which,  as  I 
remarked  just  now,  had  been  done  before  by  COUSIN  to 
the  German  philosophy.  She  made  it  known  to  France, 
and,  in  fact,  to  the  whole  west  of  Europe  and  America. 
Through  her  it  was  discovered  that  the  same  revolution, 
which  had  taken  place  in  France  in  the  tone  of  literature, 
had  also  occurred  in  Germany  : — that  materialism  and 
mockery  had  yielded  the  sway  to  the  serious  spirit  of 
Philanthropy,  Piety,  and  the  love  of  Liberty.  The  master 
minds  of  SCHILLER  and  GOETHE  led  the  way  in  this  re- 
form. Of  these,  the  former  too  soon  disappeared  from  this 
earthly  stage  :  the  latter  continued,  till  a  very  recent  pe- 


44 

riod,  to  wield  the  sceptre  of  German,  I  might  perhaps  say, 
of  European  literature.  The  change  which  they  effected 
in  the  spirit  of  learning,  was  congenial  with  the  naturally 
noble,  generous,  and  enthusiastic  German  character.  It 
had  the  happiest  effect  on  the  political  situation  of  Europe, 
by  contributing,  in  no  small  degree,  to  generate  among 
the  German  youth  the  zeal  for  independence  and  liberty, 
which  finally  secured  their  emancipation  from  the  yoke  of 
France.  It  would  give  me  pleasure,  gentlemen,  to  dwell 
at  length  upon  this  interesting  branch  of  the  subject ;  but 
the  limits  of  the  occasion,  which  I  have  already  much 
exceeded,  compel  me  to  refrain. 

In  this  rapid  review  of  the  literary  spirit  of  the  last 
and  present  century,  I  have  adverted  less  to  the  writers  of 
England,  than  those  of  the  Continent,  partly  because  the 
former  are  more  familiar  to  you,  and  partly  because  the 
change  that  I  have  described,  has  been  less  conspicuous 
in  (hem  than  in  those  of  France  and  Germany.  In  truth, 
the  immoral  school  of  learning  never  obtained  in  England 
an  extensive  popularity.  A  few  isolated  writers,  of  whom 
the  principal  are  HUME  and  GIBBON,  had  imbibed  its  poi- 
sonous spirit,  but  their  works  were  too  grave  and  volumi- 
nous to  produce  much  impression  on  the  public  mind. 
Dr.  JOHNSON,  the  acknowledged  monarch  of  letters,  stood, 
as  I  remarked  just  now,  for  twenty  years  in  succession,  at 
the  entrance  of  the  citadel  of  learning,  with  his  flaming 
sword  of  wit,  and  his  Herculean  club  of  logic, — like  the 
angel  at  the  gates  of  Eden,  to  repel  every  inroad  of  doubt- 
ful aspect.  BURKE  guarded  with  equal  success  the  temple 
of  political  science.  The  poetry  of  this  period,  though 
scanty,  is  all  as  chaste  as  it  is  highly  finished.  Every 
line  in  JOHNSON,  GOLDSMITH,  GRAY,  and  COLLINS,  is, 
morally  as  well  as  poetically,  a  gem  of  the  purest  water ; 
and  where  the  stream  bubbled  up  more  copiously  on  the 
Forth)  it  was  still  as  clear  of  all  stain  or  pollution,  as 

-Siloa's  brook,  that  flowed 


Fast  by  the  oracle  of  God. — 


45 

CAMPBELL,  ROGERS,  SOUTHEY,  and  SCOTT,  are  all,  in  this 
respect,  of  the  right  stamp.  What  a  noble  enthusiasm  for 
humanity,  liberty,  religion,  animates  the  Pleasure  of 
Hope  !  How  charmingly  the  milder  lights  of  refinement 
and  love  shine  through  the  classic  pages  of  the  Bard  of 
Memory  !  How  soon  the  Laureate  recovers  from  the  first 
eifervesence  of  thoughtless  youth,  and  strings  his  regene- 
rated lyre  to  the  highest  strains  of  Patriotism  and  Piety  ! 
How  faithfully  the  great  Magician  of  the  North,  in  all  his 
multifarious  voyages  in  the  enchanted  seas  of  Poetry  and 
Romance,  steers  his  bark  by  the  Polar  Star  of  perennial 
Truth  !  How  fervid,  and  yet  how  active  and  poetical,  is 
the  piety  of  HANNAH  MORE  !  How  pure  and  impressive, 
though  unsanctified  by  religious  views,  the  morality  of 
MARIA  EDGWORTH  !  It  is  only  since  the  recent  apparition 
of  BYRON  and  MOORE,  that  we  find  in  the  polite  literature 
of  England,  licentiousness  arrayed  in  the  dress  of  the 
finest  poetry.  But  even  in  them,  as  I  said  before,  the 
better  feeling  often  gains  the  ascendancy  ;  and  it  is  wor- 
thy of  remark,  that  their  highest  and  happiest  strains  are 
those  in  which  they  yield,  as  it  were  involuntarily,  to  the 
strong  promptings  of  the  spirit  of  truth  :  as  the  Prophet  of 
old,  who  was  sent  for  to  curse  Israel,  when  required  to 
bless  him,  seemed  to  do  it  with  a  relish.  What  a  bright 
beam  of  real  sunshine  passes  over  the  meretricious  beauty 
of  Don  Jtian,  when  the  poet,  in  the  midst  of  his  orgies, 
breaks  out  suddenly  into  that  lofty  and  pathetic  elegy  on 
the  fortunes  of  Greece  !  Never,  perhaps,  did  the  genius 
of  lyric  poetry  weave  a  strain  of  higher  mood. 

The  Isles  of  Greece  !  the  Isles  of  Greece  ! 

Where  burning  Sappho  loved  and  sung  ; 
Where  grew  the  arts  of  war  and  peace, 

Where  Delos  rose,  and  Phoebus  sprung, 
Eternal  summer  gilds  them  yet, 
But  all,  except  their  sun,  is  set. 

The  mountains  look  on  Marathon, 
And  Marathon  looks  on  the  sea  ; 


46 

And  musing  there  an  hour  alone, 

I  dreamed  that  Greece  might  yet  be  free ; 
For  standing  on  the  Persian's  grave, 
How  could  I  think  myself  a  slave  ? 

Fill  high  the  bowl  with  Samian  wine  ! 

Our  virgins  dance  beneath  the  shade : 
I  see  their  glorious,  bright  eyes  shine, 

While,  gazing  on  each  glowing  maid, 
Mine  own  the  burning  tear-drops  laves, 
To  think  such  breasts  should  suckle  slaves. 

Place  me  on  Sunwin's  marbled  steep, 

Where  nothing  save  the  waves  and  I 
'May  hear  our  mutual  murmurs  sweep  j 

There,  swan-like,  let  me  sing  and  die. 
A  land  of  slaves  shall  ne'er  be  mine  ! 
Dash  down  your  cup  of  Samian  wine  ! 

In  his  Hebrew  Melodies,  again,  with  what  ardent  feel- 
ing and  finished  perfection  of  style,  he  runs  over  all  the 
topics  that  most  deeply  interest  the  reflecting  mind. 
Then,  indeed,  he  almost  realises  his  own  splendid  eulogy 
on  the  monarch  minstrel  of  Israel. 

The  harp  the  monarch  swept, 

The  King  of  Men,  the  Loved  of  Heaven, 

Which  Music  hallowed,  while  she  wept 

O'er  tones,  her  Heart  of  Hearts  had  given  ; 

Redoubled  be  her  tears  ! — its  chords  are  riven. 

And  MOORE,  too,  when  the  glow  of  patriotism  kindles 
in  his  bosom,  "  how  he  makes"  the  chords  of  his  too  ef- 
feminate lyre,  ring  with  notes  of  the  loftiest  sublimity  and 
the  purest  pathos. 

Remember  thee  ?  Yes  !  while  there's  life  in  this  heart 
I  can  never  forget  thee,  all  lone  as  thou  art ; 
More  dear  is  thy  sorrow,  thy  gloom  and  thy  showers, 
Than  the  rest  of  the  world  in  its  sunniest  hours. 

Wert  thou  all  that  I  wish  thee,  great,  glorious  and  free, 
First  nower  of  the  earth,  and  first  gem  of  the  sea, 
I  could  hail  thee  with  brighter,  witli  happier  brow, 
But,  oh  !  could  I  love  thee  more  deeply  than  now  ? 


47 

No  !  thy  chains,  as  they  rankle,  thy  blood  as  it  runs, 
But  make  thee  more  painfully  dear  to  thy  sons, 
As  the  hearts  of  the  young  in  the  desert  birds  rest, 
Drink  Love  with  each  life-drop  that  flows  from  her  breast. 

While  these  great  poets  are  rendering  a  doubtful  hom- 
age to  the  cause  of  truth,  another  class,  of  deeper  thought 
and  better  feeling,  though  perhaps  less  dazzling  brilliancy 
of  style,  appeal  at  once  for  inspiration,  like  the  minstrel 
of  Paradise  Lost,  to  the  high  and  holy  source  of  religious 
sentiment  and  religious  truth.  With  what  calm  and  grace- 
ful majesty  the  Eagle  of  Cumberland  sails  through  the 
liquid  vault  of  air !  How  the  wayward  bard  of  the 
Ancient  Mariner,  just  for  once  to  his  own  powers,  lifts 
from  the  cloud-cap  summits  of  the  Alps  a  hymn  to  their 
Creator,  not  unequal  in  magnificence  and  beauty  to  the 
scene  that  inspired  it ! 

Philosophy  joins  her  steadier  voice  to  the  rapt  strains 
of  her  inspired  sister.  With  what  touching  eloquence 
she  speaks  through  the  pages  of  STEWART  !  How  full  and 
fresh  the  flood  of  benevolence  and  sympathy,  springs  up 
from  its  secret  source  in  the  pure  heart  of  MACKINTOSH  ! 
How  the  wise  and  good  rejoice,  when  BROUGHAM  lays 
down  upon  the  altar  of  divine  truth,  the  tribute  of  the 
mightiest  mind  that  has  adorned  the  magistracy  of  Eng- 
land, since  the  age  of  BACON  ! 

It  is  to  this  correct  moral  condition  of  public  opinion 
and  of  literature,  that  the  world  is  indebted  for  the  appar- 
ent safety  with  which  our  mother  country  is  now  pursuing 
her  way  through  the  storms  of  Revolution.  It  is  not, 
gentlemen,  as  I  have  already  remarked,  the  true  spirit  of 
Reform  and  Liberty,  which  endangers  the  tranquility  of 
nations :  it  was  not  such  a  spirit,  which  deluged  the 
streets  of  Paris,  for  years  in  succession  during  the  French 
Revolution,  with  innocent  blood.  No,  gentlemen,  it  is 
the  false  and  foul  spirit  of  licentiousness,  immorality  and 
irreligion,  that  sometimes  personates  the  other,  and  urges 


48 

on  individuals  and  communities  to  their  ruin.  As  a  friend 
of  liberty,  I  rejoice  most  sincerely,  when  I  see  her  friends 
in  the  old,  "  fast  anchored  isle,"  rubbing  off  the  rust  that 
has  crept  round  her  venerable  institutions  in  the  long 
lapse  of  a  thousand  years,  and  bringing  them  into  harmony 
with  the  wants  arid  the  spirit  of  the  times.  In  this  great 
work,  they  have  my  warmest  sympathy  and  my  best 
wishes  for  their  success ;  but  it  is  not  only,  nor  chiefly, 
for  the  zeal  and  energy  with  which  they  have  thus  far 
carried  it  on,  that  I  admire  them  most.  These  are  quali- 
ties of  the  highest  value,  but  of  common  occurrence.  No, 
gentlemen,  it  is  when  I  see  them  effecting  this  mighty 
Reform  without  violence, — for  I  count  as  nothing,  a  little 
sparring  in  the  newspapers, — a  few  angry  words  at  the 
elections, — without  violence, — without  commotion,  — 
without  bloodshed  :  when  I  see  that  they  not  only  wish 
to  be  free,  but  know  how  to  be  just,  which  the  French 
did  not : — when  I  see  them  tempering  valor  with  discre- 
tion,— the  zeal  for  liberty  with  a  careful  regard  for  the 
restraints  of  Religion,  Morals  and  Law  ; — it  is  then,  gen- 
tlemen, that  I  argue  well  for  the  ultimate  success  of  the 
enterprise  in  which  they  are  engaged  : — it  is  then  that  I 
am  proud,  as  an  American,  of  our  noble  mother  country. 
She  has  much,  gentlemen,  in  every  way  to  boast  of,  that 
illustrious  Queen  of  the  Isle.  That  the  sun  never  sets 
on  her  dominions, — that  the  Eastern  and  Western  Indies 
pour  forth  their  wealth  into  her  lap, — that  her  children 
are  conspicuous  in  every  department  of  art  and  science, — 
that  her  "  flag  has  braved  a  thousand  years  the  battle  and 
the  breeze  ;" — these  are  glorious  things  to  be  said  with 
truth  of  a  little  cluster  of  islands  in  a  corner  of  the  ocean. 
But  of  all  her  glories  that  which  I  should  value  most  highly 
were  I  one  of  her  children,  of  which  I  feel  most  proud 
as  a  foreigner  of  kindred  blood,  is  the  last,  the  one  which 
she  is  now  achieving  ; — that  of  maintaining,  as  a  nation, 
the  supremacy  of  reason  and  humanity,  in  the  midst  of 


49 

the  sternest  conflicts  of  contending  parties, — of  governing 
the  tumult  of  popular  excitement  at  its  wildest  heights  of 
frenzy, — of  taming,  as  it  were,  the  monster  Revolution 
himself,  and  guiding  him  upon  his  headlong  course,  by 
the  silken  rein  of  Law.  There,  gentlemen,  I  behold 
something  different  from  ordinary  greatness.  There  I 
recognise  the  mistress  of  the  world  in  the  science  of 
regulated  liberty.  There  I  hail  the  countrymen  of  AL- 
FRED, HAMDEN,  LOCKE,  CHATHAM,  and  BURKE  ; — the 
land  of  Magna  Charta,  of  the  Habeas  Corpus  act,— of 
the  Trial  by  Jury, — of  the  Liberty  of  the  Press;  of  the 
British  Constitution.  There  I  witness  the  superiority  of 
the  old  Anglo-Saxon  stock  over  all  others,  at  least  for  the 
construction  of  social  and  political  institutions.  Who 
does  not  offer  up  prayer  for  the  success  of  our  glorious 
mother  country  in  this  grand  enterprise  of  Reform,  so 
nobly  conceived,  thus  far  so  happily  executed  ?  Gentle- 
men, she  must  obtain  success,  for  she  has  proved,  thus 
far  at  least,  that  she  deserves  it. 

Our  country,  too,  gentlemen,  I  am  proud  to  say,  has  jus- 
tified in  a  similar  manner  her  claim  to  a  legitimate  descent 
from  the  same  common  ancestry.  Here  too,  as  in  England, 
the  tide  of  public  opinion,  and  of  learning  as  its  expression, 
has  always,  even  at  the  highest  floods  of  popular  excite- 
ment, kept  itself  pure  from  all  stain.  To  this  we  owe  it, 
gentlemen,  that  whenever  the  reign  of  Law  has  been 
temporarily  interrupted,  Religion  and  Morals  have  thrown 
their  sacred  shield  over  property  and  the  private  relations 
of  life.  To  this  we  owe  it,  that  personal  right  of  every 
kind  were,  in  general,  preserved  inviolate  through  th« 
revolutionary  war,  and  through  the  dangerous  crisis  that 
preceded  the  establishment  of  the  Federal  Constitution : 
that  they  have  since  been  preserved  inviolate,  or  with 
little  infringement,  through  a  period  of  nearly  half  a  cen- 
tury, under  a  greater  freedom  from  the  restraints  of  posi- 
tive law,  than  was  ever  enjoyed  by  any  other  commu- 

7 


50 

nity.  This,  gentlemen,  I  consider  as  the  brighest,  the 
crowning  glory  of  our  country.  When  I  reflect  on  the 
situation  of  that  country,  territorial  and  political,  and 
compare  it  with  that  of  others,  I  see  much  to  admire  on 
our  side,  and  little  to  covet  in  the  condition  of  even  the 
greatest  and  most  favored  nations  of  the  earth.  This  vast 
expanse  of  territory, — with  its  exhaustless  fertility, — its 
wealth  of  waters^  woods  and  rivers, — its  cloud-capt  moun- 
tains, boundless  plains  and  ocean  lakes : — this  tide  of  pop- 
ulation, which  is  constantly  pouring  itself  out  in  a  fertil- 
izing flow  upon  the  bosom  of  our  continental  paradise  : — 
this  unexampled  success  in  agriculture,  manufactures  and 
commerce, — in  policy  and  war, — in  every  useful  and  or- 
namental branch  of  art  and  science  : — this  family  of  new 
natives,  rising  one  after  another  into  being,  as  by  enchant- 
ment, in  the  depths  of  an  unexplored  wilderness, — this 
hitherto  untried  principle  of  Representative  Democracy, 
quietly  working  out  its  beautiful  wonders, — speciosa  mira- 
cula,  rin  each : — above  all,  this  Union  of  the  States, 
which  binds  them  together  in  one  "  golden,"  and  I  trust, 
"everlasting  chain"  of  perpetual  peace: — these,  gentle- 
men, are  the  elements  and  outward  demonstrations  of  our 
national  greatness.  I  am  proud, — we  must  all  be  proud, 
— of  all  these  advantages.  But  when  I  look  through  and 
under  them  to  the  foundation  of  the  system,  1  behold 
something  that  awakens  a  still  more  lively  sentiment  of 
satisfaction  and  national  pride ;  I  mean  the  noble  mode- 
ration, with  which  the  people,  released  from  almost  every 
positive  restraint,  submit  themselves  spontaneously  to  the 
higher  law  of  their  own  sense  of  duty ; — I  mean  the  care 
for  education, — the  mutual  regard  for  the  rights  of  others, 
— the  respect  for  the  outward  observances  of  Religion, — 
the  deeply  felt  faith  in  its  solemn  truths, — the  high  and 
healthy  tone  of  philosophy  and  literature  in  all  their  de- 
partments, which  make  up  together  the  moral  and  reli- 
gious basis  of  our  political  institutions.  When  I  contem- 


51 

plate  such  a  state  of  society,  I  acknowledge  that  our  noble 
fathers,  to  whom,  under  Providence,  we  are  indebted  for 
it,  were  equal  to  the  task  they  undertook, — that  loftiest 
of  all  human  enterprises,  the  foundation  of  an  Empire. 
When  I  recollect  that  we,  their  children,  are  charged  with 
the  duty  of  maintaining  and  perpetuating  such  a  state  of 
society,  1  am  oppressed  with  the  weight  of  responsibility 
that  devolves  upon  us,  and  I  feel  that  we  can  have  no 
solid  hope  of  success,  but  in  a  constant  reliance  on  that 
Rock  of  Ages  upon  which  they  rested.  I  acquiesce  most 
fully  in  the  conclusion  which  has  been  drawn  by  the 
most  intelligent  European  traveller  who  has  yet  visited 
our  country,  as  the  general  result  of  all  his  observations 
and  researches.  "  I  am  convinced,"  says  M.  de  JOCQUE- 
VILLE,  "  that  the  greatest  natural  advantages  and  the  best 
political  institutions,  will  never  secure  the  prosperity  of  a 
nation  without  good  morals,  while  these  will  counteract 
the  influence  of  the  most  unfavorable  circumstances  and 
the  worst  laws.  The  importance  of  good  morals  to  na- 
tional success,  is  a  truth  to  which  all  study  and  alt  expe- 
rience constantly  bring  us  back.  I  find  it  placed  in  my 
mind,  like  a  central  point,  in  which  all  my  enquiries  and 
reflections  terminate.  If  I  have  not  impressed  upon  others 
the  degree  of  influence  which  I  attribute  to  the  moral 
habits  of  the  Americans,  in  maintaining  their  political  in- 
stitutions, I  have  failed  in  the  principal  object  of  my 
work." 

I  have  thus,  gentlemen,  too  concisely  for  a  satisfactory 
developement  of  so  extensive  a  subject,  though  far  too 
largely,  I  fear,  for  your  patient  attention, — endeavored  to 
describe  and  illustrate  the  respective  moral  characteristics 
of  the  literature  of  the  last,  and  of  the  present  century.  I 
have  shewn  you  the  practical  results  of  the  licentiousness 
of  the  former  period  in  the  excesses  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution,—of  the  comparative  purity  of  the  latter,  in  the 
success  of  our  own  government,  and  of  the  revolution  now 


52 

in  progress  in  England.  Indulge  me  one  moment  longer 
while,  as  a  practical  improvement  of  the  proceeding  re- 
marks, I  invite  and  earnestly  entreat  you  to  lend  your 
personal  influence  in  keeping  up  the  correct  and  elevated 
moral  tone,  which  has  hitherto  distinguished  the  conduct, 
opinions  and  literature  of  our  country.  On  you,  and 
those  who,  like  you,  are  going  forth  annually  from  our 
seats  of  learning,  to  fill  the  professional  and  political  em- 
ployments of  society,  it  devolves,  in  a  great  measure,  to 
determine  the  character  of  public  opinion.  Resolve  firm- 
ly,— labor  strenuously  and  perseveringly, — that  it  may 
not  degenerate  under  your  influence.  Cultivate  assidu- 
ously in  yourselves  and  others,  the  pure,  generous,  relig- 
ious spirit,  which  I  have  described  as  the  characteristics 
of  the  literature  of  the  present  age.  Avoid  in  your  lives 
and  writings  the  stain  of  licentiousness  which  formed  the 
reproach  of  that  of  the  last  century.  Avoid  the  less  se- 
ductive, but,  if  possible,  still  more  degrading  idolatry  of 
mammon,  which  is,  perhaps,  the  besetting  sin  of  this. 
Keep  before  you  the  examples  of  the  fathers  of  our  coun- 
try, who  left  their  delightful  abodes  in  the  wealthy  and 
civilised  regions  of  the  old  world,  that  they  might  wor- 
ship God  with  freedom  of  conscience  in  the  wilderness ; 
— of  the  statesmen  and  patriots,  who  at  a  later  period, 
endangered,  without  hesitation,  their  lives  and  fortunes, 
when  they  pledged  their  sacred  honor  to  the  cause  of  in- 
dependence and  liberty.  Recollect  that  it  depends,  at 
this  moment,  on  your  fidelity, — on  the  fidelity  of  the 
present  generation, — to  the  principles  and  examples  of  our 
fathers,  whether  the  fruits  of  their  sacrifices  shall  be 
transmitted  unimpaired  to  future  generations,  or  lost  for- 
ever. The  destinies  of  our  country,  as  they  How  present 
themselves  to  the  eye  of  probable  conjecture,  are  magni- 
ficent, beyond  any  precedent  in  history, — almost  beyond 
the  scope  of  the  wildest  fancy :  but  it  depends,  as  I  have 
said,  on  the  fidelity  of  each  succeeding  generation  to  its 


53 

great  trust,  whether  these  bright  anticipations  shall  be 
converted  into  splendid  and  glorious  realities,  or  vanish  into 
nothing,  like  the  unsubstantial  pageant  of  a  dream.  We, 
gentlemen,  as  the  existing  generation,  occupy  in  our  time, 
that  isthmus  of  the  Present,  which  interposes  its  narrow 
bound  between  the  immutable  Past,  and  the  still  uncer- 
tain Future.  We  bear  up  for  a  fleeting  moment  on  our 
feeble  shoulders,  the  institutions  on  which  depends  the 
welfare  of  those  who  are  to  follow  us.  In  that  cloudy, 
billowy  abyss  of  the  Future,  which  spreads  itself  before 
us,  I  can  almost  fancy  that  I  see  the  shadowy  forms  of 
the  myriads,  whose  fortunes  will  he  determined  by  our 
conduct,  rising  in  countless  groups,  and  with  clasped 
hands,  imploring  us  to  be  true  to  our  duty.  From  that 
higher  and  happier  sphere,  where  they  are  now  reaping 
the  reward  of  their  earthly  labors,  our  canonised  fathers 
look  down  upon  us  with  eyes  of  encouragement,  of  warn- 
ing, of  love.  They  direct  our  view  to  the  long  roll 
where  History  records,  in  blazing  characters,  the  crimes 
and  the  punishments  of  the  nations  that  have  gone  be- 
fore us. 

Gentlemen,  you  have  read  this  roll.  Within  those 
venerable  walls  the  treasured  stores  of  learning  have  been 
opened  to  you ;  the  task  of  preparation  is  completed  ;  the 
hour  of  action  has  at  length  arrived. 

Go  forth  then,  gentlemen,  cheerfully,  resolutely,  fear- 
lessly, to  the  warfare  of  life ;  and  may  the  blessing  of 
Providence  guide  you  aright  through  its  various  perils. 
Temptations  will  assail  you.  Shake  them  off  like  dew- 
drops  from  the  lion's  mane.  Dangers  will  beset  you. 
Encounter  them  without  dismay.  Labor,  suffer,  perish, 
if  it  must  be  so,  in  the  sacred  cause  of  truth  and  virtue. 
Finally,  gentlemen,  when  the  fight  waxes  hottest  and  all 
other  resources  seem  to  desert  you, — when  the  whole 
head  is  sick  and  the  whole  heart  is  faint, — then  lift  your 
eyes  aloft,  and  behold,  emblazoned  in  the  azure  field  of 


54 

the  firmament,  waving  gloriously  its  snow-white  folds 
from  pole  to  pole,  that  wondrous  banner,  which  the  first 
Christian  Emperor  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  in  the  midst 
of  battle,  beaming  glorious!  y  upon  him  through  surround- 
ing clouds,  the  banner  of  Religion  ; — and  read  upon  it,  as 
he  did,  in  letters,  as  bright  as  the  flashes  of  the  forked 
lightning,  the  assurance  of  success.  EN  TOYTJI 
By  this  conquer. 


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